


Care for You

by dmdiane



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Origin Story, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmdiane/pseuds/dmdiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nallen origin story. </p><p>Nell Jones is the only person able to save Callen this time. Suddenly intrigued, he has to know more. When her past threatens and he steps up to try and protect her, he discovers more about this mysterious woman he’s attracted to and in the process they might just fall in love. WIP. </p><p>I own nothing. Just taking some characters out to play for a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “I kinda don’t want to leave you here.”

NCIS Lead Special Agent G Callen has been compromised before, endured physical and psychological torture before, has in fact faced death before. He's expecting a bullet in the head or Sam crashing through the door. Neither expectation is going to help him, just wishful thinking. Anything is better than being beat to death. Punishing feet land on his back. There are six of them and he held them off longer than he’d thought he would. He shuts his mind to the current pain and fatigue, willfully retreats into deep reservoirs of solitude where he cannot be touched. His body absorbs another series of blows and slowly, much too slowly, darkness settles around him.

Callen's senses buzz back to the surface of consciousness. “Callen." A familiar voice. “Callen.” So soft. "G." A small hand on his chest, gentle pressure of five fingers spreading. Not dead, after all. He opens his eyes to relative darkness, sucking in air, something is bubbling in his chest. He tastes blood.

"Hush. Take my hand."

His fingers close, enveloping a small warm hand.

"You will have to get up and walk." He knows the voice. There is an apology in the voice. "We have less than a minute. Get up."

Callen rolls to stand, achingly stiff muscles and several broken bones that include something in his left foot are readily apparent. But no pain. "What did you give me?" He manages to whisper.

"Enough speed to get you out of here." Lips move against his ear.

"Nell?"

A scuffle in the hallway, a klaxon sounds. "Now." She urges, pushing him with her body and guiding him with her hands. He demands one foot go in front of the other. The tiny hand in his guides him into the hallway and away from the noise. In another room French doors open onto a balcony. The whomp of chopper blades explains the body basket hovering. Callen collapses into the basket and Nell climbs onto his chest. "Sorry." She lies on him, hair whipping his face, smelling like oranges. Gunfire below. His eyes close.

Callen wakes to intense discomfort, something choking him, beeping and a whir. Hospital. Chest tube. Still alive. A tall figure nearby and the darkness takes him back. The next time he opens his eyes the chest tube is gone, although an IV tugs at his arm. It's bright.  And far too many things hurt to catalogue. Hates this part. He groans.

"There you are." Sam comes into view. "Welcome back."

"Or not." Callen’s throat is raw, his voice a husky croak. Damn chest tube.

"Close one, friend."

~o~

Nell Jones ducks out of the NCIS Office of Special Projects lugging a basket of fruit and tea. It seems crazy it’s only been two days since a chopper lowered her onto the twenty-fourth floor roof of the Millian Building to drop through a ventilation shaft. Seems like a different life. Yes, she trained as a field agent at Quantico while she got her PhD. Yes, she was the only person with NCIS, the FBI or LAPD small enough to get down that shaft - the only way into the building that wouldn’t set off alarms. Yes, rescuing Callen was priority one. Still. Not a typical day at work.

Nell can't get the image of Callen on the floor bleeding out of her head. She'd seen him banged up plenty of times, but that hadn't prepared her for what she found that night. Barely breathing, blood trickling from his mouth, pale and still. His bruised face and hands are etched in her memory. She’s not sure why she’s feeling so overwhelmed by this. It should be work. As an intern she’d seen worse. But, never anyone she knew. Never anyone she cared about.

She knocks lightly, peeks around the door before entering. Callen is propped against the pillows, gazing at her over the binding of a book. He looks much better, smiles when he see her, and she realizes this is why Hetty sent her. She needed to see him better. "Hi." She steps into the room. She sets the basket on the window sill next to a bouquet of flowers bearing a large crayoned get well card from Sam’s kids.

"Hi." He looks from her to the food and back. "Thank you."

"It's from Hetty."

"No, I meant thank you." He meets her eyes. "For coming for me."

"Of course. you would do the same for me."

"I would. But, it’s my job. It isn’t your job." He inclines his head. "So thanks anyway."

Nell perches on the edge of the guest chair, looking closely at the machines monitoring his vital signs. He has four broken ribs, a punctured lung, six broken bones in a foot. They'd had to remove his torn spleen. His blue gaze is as intense as it's ever been. She nods. Tears fill her eyes. She tries to blink them back, but several trace down her cheeks.

“You okay?” His voice is rough with concern.

She ducks her head. “You looked really bad up there. You look better now.”

“Feel better.” He allows. “How about you? Recovered? That was a bit of a stunt, to hear Sam tell it.” He’s grinning, his voice light, belying the gravity of the circumstances.

“Bit more of an adventure than I planned on a Thursday.” She follows his lead and keeps it light, banter. Bit of nothing.

“For me, too, believe it.” Callen looks tired and she detects lines discomfort around his eyes. He’s in pain. Joking, but hurting. He holds her gaze. “The paperwork has to be a mountain on that one.”

“Understatement.” She confirms. She stands, wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’ll let you rest. If you need anything, or I can get you anything, just text.” She backs toward the door.

Callen gives her an assessing look, head tilting slightly. Then he nods and closes his eyes.

~o~

He’s watching her. Which makes sense, but that doesn’t make it entirely comfortable. Or comforting. Since the day she guided him out of that mansion, Agent Callen has been extremely observant of Nell. Not that he ever ignored her. He’s always been the soul of respect. He’s always listened to her input, solicited her ideas, taken her advice. But, his attention is ramped up well beyond that now. Not sure what it’s about, she returns some of the attention. He is interesting, handsome, funny.

She knows too much about him from studying his history to build credible legends. Without planning it she’s burrowed into his life. Lives. Somehow a sense of proprietary interest has crept in from who knows where and utterly colored her feelings towards him. Especially her feelings about him watching her. Being on the other end of the scrutiny is unexpected, although not unwelcome. She likes having his eyes on her.

Nell has more than a little nerdy girl show off in her. She enjoys being scary smart and won’t hesitate to put her big brain to use. At OSP she’s the only PhD in the room and proud of it. Having the benefits of Callen’s undivided attention, she is at pains to make sure he sees that she’s smart, witty, skilled and above all unconcerned about his attentions. Yep, she likes him, damn it. Damn it.

Since Callen was released from the hospital he’s been hanging out at OSP, even though he wasn’t cleared for work. He doesn’t work, he reads. He doesn’t even kibitz on cases, ignoring them all when they swung into action. He sits, often with his booted foot on the desk, reading. When he isn’t doing that he’s lying on the couch in the break room, reading. Looking deliciously relaxed, reading.

As much as she already knows about him, Nell finds herself noting the book titles and languages, gauging his reading habits and tastes. The graphic novel fantasies she would have predicted. The Russian classic literature seems like a bit of a stereo-type, who really sits around reading Dostoyevsky for pleasure? He seems to eat books rather than read them, he has a new one nearly every day. Of course he’s not working. What really surprises her is the common thread of everything she’s seen in his hands for the past month. It’s unrelentingly romantic. No romances, of course, but stories of valor, sacrifice and justice are the staple of his reading habits. She should've known, probably could’ve guessed, but is amused anyway.

Having thrust a long needle into him, and curled on him in a basket swinging several hundred feet high, Nell is acutely aware of a lingering intimacy between them. She doesn’t think twice before lifting a book cover he’s reading to check the title. He tugs on the hem of her skirt one day from the couch, startling her into stopping, just to re-tie her shoe without comment. He might have said something last month. He wouldn't have tied the shoe for her.

Goofing off with Eric or Marty, her two best friends in LA, has a kind of hollow feeling when Callen is reclining somewhere nearby, watching with hooded eyes. She calls her bestie from college, recounts all the details, and is given a diagnosis of 'sounds like he has a bit of a Nell crush.' Not helpful as she's clearly been crushing on him for nearly a year without being aware of it. Probably nothing will come from any of this. Attraction is ephemeral, transient, she has to know someone to really fall for him. Just knowing Callen because it's her job to know him doesn't count. She knows herself well enough to recognize the excuses mean she's falling and hoping. Damn it.

~o~

Callen went from the hospital to the Hanna house. Michelle won’t hear of him being home alone until his injuries were completely healed. She’s turned the main floor study into Uncle G’s room by adding a recliner and a chest of drawers. G has slept on the couch there often enough none of them even considered upgrading to a bed. To keep out from under foot, he also hangs out at OSP for large portions of the day. He likes the bustle. As a kid who’d moved from home to home, and often found himself sleeping in a shelter for a night or two, he grew accustomed to having things just in motion around him. He still likes it. Truth be told, though he’s not telling anyone, he sometimes reads in the AmTrak station, too.

He’s always known rescue comes in many forms. He certainly wasn’t expecting it to come in the form of Nell Jones. Sam’s rendition of the mission burst with pride in the young woman’s level-headed capable skills, strength and sheer cussedness. Apparently she’d been an integral part of the planning, and quite opinionated about circumventing the security system. Her intel analysis of outgoing calls from the cell phones in the house moved the plan up by 14 critical hours, which may have indeed saved his life.

He finds it hard to keep from watching her. He knew she’s a lot smarter than he is, which is saying something. Seeing how she carries herself in the office, he figured she knows how to handle herself. He’s underestimated her physical abilities though, according Sam she climbs like a stuntman, and can scale a straight corner up or down several floors without hand holds. He’s sure it helps she only weighs about two pounds. He can scale a corner, too. Okay, once. Then rest. She’s really young, too. Sickenly young. She can’t be more than… he doesn’t want to think about it.

Instead of continuing speculation he pulls her file. She’s older than he thought. He sets aside the relief he feels for the moment and delves into her educational history, her training at both Quantico and FLETC. Her file has a very distinct beginning. She was the valedictorian of her poshy multilingual Swiss boarding school junior class where she was completing A levels and taking Oxford College admissions courses. Before that, nothing. Even his file goes back through 37 foster placement to age 5. In fact he can find out where each of them went to primary school, except Nell. He lets that percolate to the back of his thoughts and reads her dissertation on the role of the dark web in espionage.

She eats all the time. Not a lot, and really clean, he hasn’t seen her eat meat, or drink anything other than water. She’s also at OSP all the time. The only he’d spent that much time in the office, he’d lived there. He stays one night to make sure she’s not sleeping up there, too. She’s not. Now that he’s watching he notices little things. The way she holds onto something when she talks to the team, a clipboard, a pad of paper, sometimes a pen. The way she scribbles notes on almost anything while she’s working. She hums.

Staying with the Hanna family is nearly as restorative as physical therapy. The constant noises of contentment. Being greeted when he comes in. “Uncle Geeeeeee!” Helping Gracie with math homework every night. Michelle keeping track of his doctors appointments on the family calendar on the fridge. Talking through the days events at the dinner table. It’s all a very nice contrast to his otherwise solitary lifestyle. Reminds him of the few foster homes he’d liked.

~o~

When Nell Jones does something, she does it. Very thoroughly. In the wake of the Millian incident,  her boss Hetty Lange, suggests Nell might want to begin active fieldwork training again. Nell dives into honing her firearms and self-defense tactics by doubling her work hours. She’d originally wanted to be a field agent, back before her gaming prowess and keen critical thinking skills got her booted into gisting and intelligence analysis. She understands the increasing need for fast good cyber warfare defense and offense. She wouldn’t mind at all being sent to work cybercrime in DC eventually. Fieldwork now can only enhance her credentials to get there.

After her regular hours, she heads out for a quick bite, returning to OSP within an hour to the shooting range. She prides herself on accuracy in all things. Firearms skills is no different. It took her a long time to find a handgun she likes and can wield with utter confidence. She finally settled on a Ruger LC9, it’s light, reliable, easy to carry and gets the job done. She keeps hers in a clip under her desk at OSP, though she’s never had cause to defend Tech Ops, you never know. Prepared is best. And Eric would faint if someone started shooting at them. She’s not sure he wouldn’t faint if he saw her pull the gun. She grins.

The shooting gallery is empty and she racks up a target, sending it down the range. She pulls on ear protection. Feet shoulder-width apart, deep breath. Her height means that when shooting at almost anyone she’s shooting slightly up, which is an odd stance, but works for her. She releases her safety, aims, and breathes through seven evenly paced shots. Her shots hit four center mass, three center head. She hits the button to bring the target to her and takes off the headgear.

“Nicely done.”

She jumps and turns to find Callen leaning on the wall. “Agent Callen, you startled me.” He came back on active duty two weeks ago. He’s actually in the office less. Three months out from the beating, he’s looking fit. She’s been watching him on the plasma screens, and he’s moving comfortably.

He nods at the target, now parked in front of them swinging gently. “You always shoot that well?”

Nell narrows her eyes, wanting for a moment to hide behind diffidence. His eyes, crystal blue, come back to hers, expecting an answer. “Usually.”

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “You’re full of surprises. What other hidden talents do you have?”

She purses her lips. “Not hidden. I’m a good shot, decent in a fight.” She admits. “I mean, there’s very little call for that in Tech Ops.” She omits the need to drop through an air shaft to get to him. “And I’m eerily good with dogs.”

Callen cocks his head, his brows rising appreciatively. “Eerily?”

She tilts her head knowingly and shrugs. “What can I say?”

He chuckles. “Hetty talked to me yesterday about putting you out in the field more often. I was going to ask you to qualify, but looks like you’re ahead of me.”

“She talked to me, too.” She grins. “I like to be ready.”

“I bet.” His gaze is more sternly assessing than his tone might suggest. “If you want, I can spar with you tomorrow, sign you off on self defense.” He offers.

Nell knows he’s not letting anyone out in the field on his watch unless he knows intimately what they can and can’t do. Part of his job as team leader is to know his team and she admires this about him. She nods. “Okay. Sure.” She just doesn’t want an audience, the last thing she needs is Marty or Eric heckling. She caught a lot of teasing after the whole down the vent system thing, and it’s finally dying away.

“You sound unsure.”

“No. Just don’t know what time would be best.” She stalls.

The corner of Callen’s mouth goes up. “We probably have a full day tomorrow, but we can try for 6? Before dinner?”

Relieved, she nods. “Perfect.”

Nell shows up at the gym in jersey boxers and a sports bra, hands taped, hair braided. She’s really small. And adorable. Callen’s never been immune to her particular attractions. He’s honest enough with himself to admit his relief at finding she’s almost thirty is about wanting her. There might be fifteen years between them, but it’s not a critical fifteen, she’s an adult, and he’d really been afraid it was more than twenty. He grins.

“What?” She asks, arms akimbo.

“Cute.” He admits.

She scowls, growls, and then with a sudden movement, flies directly at him. His arms go up. She kicks him in the chest. He goes down. Seconds later she has an elbow on his throat. Her face is so close he feels her breath on his lips. “It helps if you fight back. And, there is no cute.”

He wraps an arm around her and flips, pinning her beneath him. She curls, gets a knee on his thigh and leverages away. They both scramble to their feet and begin to spar in earnest. She’s good and she’s fast. He is too, and watches how she fights carefully. Lots of martial arts, which makes sense given her size. Good balance between advance and retreat. Good eye for his next move, too. She counters really well. She’ll do. Her strength will always be offense, shock and awe. In the end he is bigger, stronger and has more stamina. He pins her a second time and they’re done. He pulls her to her feet by the hand. “Well, done. I’ll sign you off.” He says. “And, you’re also cute.” He adds.

She takes it stride this time with a mischievous grin. “You’re damn cute yourself, mister.” She pats him on the butt and walks toward the women’s lockers.

He watches her go. She’s gorgeous. If he’s supervising her in the field, he cannot be sleeping with her. He lets his head drop and closes his eyes. Worse things have happened. He married the woman he was undercover with for a year, there was a mistake. As Sam told him upon hearing the story, never marry anyone when you don’t know each other’s names. And there is something nagging at the back of his thoughts about that. He shakes off the introspection and hits the showers.

~o~

A week later, Callen takes Nell to interview the sister of a missing marine. Sam looks thoroughly non-plussed when assigned to go with Kensi to the crime scene and Marty is sent to LAPD for info. No one comments, but G can imagine them consulting as soon as he’s out of earshot. Well, let them. They’ll be fine. He goes with Nell to his car and they head out to Venice beach. The mercedes is a monster. Big, powerful and purring it is a match for Callen’s temperament. Nell runs a fond hand over the silky leather seat. “Does she have a name?”

Callen nods appreciatively. No one’s thought to ask him this. “This is Lauren. Lauren this is Nell.” He mock introduces her to his car.

“After Bacall?”

“Yeah.” He shoots her a shrewd glance. She’s knows him much much better than he knows her. He cruises through LA just slightly faster than legal. He focuses on his rookie. “You armed?”

“Yes.”

He nods. “You calm?”

“Yes.”

He smiles. “Well, good. Tell me what we know about this woman.”

“Exactly my age of twenty-nine. School teacher in Idaho before she came down here a couple months ago to look for her brother. She’s the one reported him missing last week. She’s been staying at a hotel, but checks in with his landlord daily. We’re meeting her at his apartment. She has a fiance back home, parents in Coeur d’Alene. Hasn’t seen her brother in person for a couple of years, so he may be estranged.”

The apartment is a ramshackle fourplex. Callen parks on the curb. They walk up to unit C and find the door slightly ajar, the lock mangled. Callen motions Nell behind him, pulling his gun. She pulls hers, holding it at her side and following him in. Callen swings left. “Clear.”

Nell goes to the right. The dining room is empty and undisturbed. “Clear.”

Callen heads down the short hall and Nell goes through the dining room to the adjoining kitchen. He clears the one bedroom and bathroom and returns into the kitchen where he sees Nell looking at the floor. He glances down. A woman is stretched on the linoleum in a pool of blood. Nell kneels to check for a pulse. She looks up and meets his eyes. She shakes her head. He chuffs out a breath, half irritated. “Call it in.” He pivots and ducks out the back door for a quick look around the property. When he comes back into the kitchen, Nell has on black latex gloves and sifts through a handbag. She surfaces with a cell phone, uses the dead woman’s forefinger to unlock the screen and begins scrolling through the call list. Callen grins.

“No call to 911. The last incoming call was from OSP. The last outgoing is ‘mom.’” Nell drops the phone back in the bag, leaving the for CSU. “Not much of a scuffle. Looks like a clean hit, no robbery, no fight, no nothing.” She catches his grin. “If you say cute, I’ll shoot you.”

He holds up his hands. “Agreed. Wait here for a patrol car. I’ll go see if I can turn up this landlord. After that let’s go talk to some neighbors.”

~o~

It’s a paperwork day. The staff is parked at desks. Callen takes this more literally than the rest of the team and leans back in his desk chair reading Frontera, the Spanish language newspaper, one of the seven papers in as many languages delivered daily. Deeks, done with his paperwork, heckles Kensi and she’s amused, he can tell, and he keeps up the antics. A paper clip sails past Sam to land on Kensi’s desk. Sam’s glare gets Kensi laughing.

Upstairs in Tech Ops, Eric and Nell are updating software. Nell’s phone vibrates. Not a number she knows. She lets it go to voicemail. At the next break in her train of thought she idly picks up the message. A mechanical voice she knows far too well brings her to a complete halt. ‘This message was received for you at 1400 hours Eastern Standard Time, on Thursday, April 14th.’ Then another familiar voice. ‘Carin, it’s Gemma. I’m sorry. It’s just that Jimmy Holder got out yesterday. He came by the store. He told Larry he knows where you are.’ Her vision tunnels, oh no, no, no, no. Her thoughts stutter to a complete stop along with her breath which catches and holds. She watches as if from across the room as her hand begins to tremble.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Eric touches her arm.

 

Nell brushes Eric’s hand away. She can't quite bring her attention back. Someone who says he'll kill her is loose in the world again. He, of course, can't know where she is, or what name she's using. Impossible. She shakes her head, stands, grabs her bag and leaves. She jogs down the stairs, mind racing. There's someone she can call surely. It's been 15 years. Is there anyone on the Fairfax force who even remembers? Must be? If she contacts them, though, what would that trigger?

 

“Nell?” Eric calls after her in surprise. She walks straight through the building and out the door. Eric follows as far as the stairs. Callen frowns, glances at Sam. Sam shrugs and nods. Callen follows.

 

“Nell.” Callen jogs up beside her, takes her arm. “Hang on. What happened?”

 

“What?” She looks past him.

 

Callen waits for her to focus. When she finally does he sees fear in her maple hazel eyes.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I have to go. I have to…”

 

“You’re shaking.” He grips her shoulders. “What’s…” She is crying. Her breath is shallow and she’s pale. “You can’t drive like this.” He takes her keys, steers to the Mercedes and opens the passenger door.

 

“No.” She shakes her head. “Callen, stop.”

 

“Where are you going?” He insists. “I’ll take you.”

 

Nell feels light headed. She sits. “I don’t know. Home, I guess.”

 

They ride in silence for several minutes. Callen touches Nell’s arm. “Talk to me.” He says softly.

 

“Can’t.” She can hardly think.

 

He presses his lips together and drives. At her place, he walks around the car as she opens her door. He has no intention of letting her go to her apartment without talking to him. He blocks her, hands on her shoulders. “I’ll…”

 

A gunning motorcycle engine causes they both to look toward the street. The bike accelerates, its trajectory shifting directly at them. Metal glints. Shots ring out. Callen dives for cover taking Nell with him. She tucks and skids under the car, tearing skin off her hands and wrists before remembering to roll. He’s up and fires answering shots from a crouch beside her. Seconds later there is nothing but the faint hum of the retreating bike, her own heavy breathing and Callen’s icy blue stare.

 

Staring gets no response. Callen reaches under the car, grabs her wrist and unceremoniously hauls her out. He hustles them toward the back of the apartment complex, gripping her tightly and using his free hand on the phone. In the alley behind the building, out of sight from the street, Callen stops, bracing Nell against the brick wall. He slides his phone back into his pocket and glances at his arm, where blood drips from a rip in his skin. “Well, damn it.” Then turns his attention back to her. She is pale, but a quick scan shows her to be a little scraped up but basically unhurt. Her eyes are a little too wide and her breath too short. She seems to be going into shock and he needs information. “Talk.” He demands.

 

“You’re bleeding. I’m so sorry, oh my god, are you alright? I have a kit. I didn’t think this would happen. I don’t know how he found me. Let me see this.” Nell’s flood of words washes over him without containing any useful content. He narrows his eyes. If anything she talks faster. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. This isn’t what it looks like. I have to… Let me go inside, I need to call…”

 

He drops his head, puts his mouth on hers. Her breath catches and he takes the kiss deeper, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue. She tastes like fear. Not at all how he’d anticipated their first kiss. He pulls back only far enough to look into her eyes. “Someone is shooting at you. I was just grazed by a bullet. You have to tell me what’s going on. Now.”

 

She bows her head. “Yes.” She makes a visible effort to stop shaking and after a long moment succeeds. When she meets his eyes again, she is back to her level self. “Ten years ago I killed a guy. His brothers, there are four of them, vowed to kill me. I got a call from a friend telling me one of the boys, the oldest,  was released from prison two days ago. I don’t understand why, how he, they, he, I don’t understand how they found me.”

 

Callen absorbs the information, nods once. He lets go of her arm arms, stepping back out of her personal space. “We need to get you somewhere safe. Then we need to sort this out and end it.”

 

Nell rubs some circulation back into her tingling limbs. “Yes. I… thank you.”

 

A car brakes nearby, doors slam. Callen’s phone chimes. He glances at it. “We’ve got back-up. Let’s go get you packed. Hetty has a safe house readied.”

 

“Kensi, get her packed.” Callen hands Nell off to the junior agent. “Deeks, keep an eye on the doors.” He turns to Sam. “Eric have anything on the bike?”

 

“Stolen, but he's got video tracking it back to a warehouse in South Central. What does Nell say?” Sam glowers at Callen, the alley, the Mercedes, everything he sees.

 

Callen rubs a hand over his face. “Apparently she killed someone and his brothers want revenge.”

 

Sam’s eyebrows rise.

 

“I have to think Hetty has information we don’t. Let’s have LAPD check out that warehouse, this is still local. I’ll take her to the safehouse and see what I can learn from her.” Callen puts a hand on Sam’s chest. “Go back to OSP, see what Hetty can tell us. Have Eric keep eyes on the warehouse, and on Nell’s.”

 

“Let’s wrap that.” Sam lifts his chin in the direction of Callen’s bloodied arm. Using the first-aid kit from the Challenger, Sam wraps a wide swath of bandage neatly around Callen’s bicep. He’d taped it when Nell and Kensi came out, bags in tow.

Uniforms have a couple of sections of the street taped off, diverting traffic. CIS is marking off bullet casings and a couple of tread marks across the street. A curious crowd gathers near the apartment complex entrance. Nell touches her mouth, what the hell is she supposed to do about this? She scans the area for news trucks, but doesn’t see any. She hopes this was too random, too routine to get media attention. Gunfire in LA doesn’t get much notice, but it’s not usually in this neighborhood.

 

“Kensi, Deeks. See what LAPD has for us at this warehouse.” Callen takes Nell’s bags to his car, motioning her to follow him. “You’re with me. Safe house until we’re sure no one is shooting at you.” He waits by the car door, blocking her from the street with his body while she settles into the passenger seat. When her seat belt is fastened and he’s surveyed the immediate surroundings one more time, he walks around and climbs in. He starts the car, ratchets up the A/C.

 

Nell considers his profile. “You kissed me.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Been thinking about that.” He says slowly. “I’ve wanted to do that for an age. I was incredibly grateful you’re not injured. And I really needed you to stop talking nonsense. The combination of adrenaline and being attracted to you. Not how that ought to go. I’m sorry. Way out of line. It was a…” He takes a breath. “A momentary lapse.”

 

Nell reaches across the console and touches the back of his hand. “Have a lapse any time.”

 

Their eyes lock and hold. The corner of Callen’s mouth tips up. “I know this isn’t the time.” His hand covers hers. “No, that’s not right. I should be honest. You’re the most gorgeous, interesting woman I’ve known. I don’t even know how to begin a normal thing with anyone. This sure as hell isn’t it. Let’s get to the safe house. You have to tell me what’s happening as best you can so we can fix it. When we get a plan on the ground, we can talk about… this.” He lifts her hand, caresses her fingers and lets go.

 

Nell nods.

 

The safe house is a bungalow behind a Beverly Hills mansion. It’s in the middle of the property, an easy acre from any direct access.

 

“Who lives in the main house?” Nell asks warily as they circled the mansion.

 

“No one.” Callen smiles.

 

Nell, unarmed, follows Callen while he clears the house, checks site lines. She curses her instinct to flee OSP without her sidearm. Not ready. He moves her bags to the foot of the bed in the master bedroom before coming back to her. He rests his hands on hips and looks at her squarely. “How do we do this?”

 

Nell sighs, takes his hand and leads him to the couch. She folds her legs up under her butt, and grabs a cushion, holding it in her lap protectively. She bites her lip. “A long time ago I went to a party, and it got out of control, the boys got a hold of rohypnol and put it in the punch. The next thing we knew there were guys dragging girls into the bedroom and… well, basically rape, huh?” She twists her hands together. “It wasn’t, I wasn’t drinking punch, but I was plenty drunk. He, Derek. Derek Holder. He tried. Anyway. I fought, really hard. He beat the shit out of me.” She shook her head. “We were in his dad’s bedroom, I was scrambling around to find anything to defend myself. There was a gun in the bedside table. I shot him. He died. There was a social media and news festival of crazy about the whole thing.”

 

Callen ground his teeth. She glanced at him curiously.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“Bullshit.” Quiet, but hard.

 

She sees in his face something has pinged his memory. “No, you’re right. Not okay. But in the past. Okay. Past.”

 

“It’s not past if it’s here.”

 

“Right. Right. My parents got an attorney, it was a huge mess, but everything that had anything to do with me was redacted, retracted, sealed, made to vanish. The boys went to jail. We left the country. I went to boarding school with a sealed record and an alias. Witness protection for rich kids.” Her laugh has a bitter edge. “That’s what I meant by I don’t know how he found me.”

 

“Okay. We start there.” Callen pulls his phone out. “Eric, find out how in the hell James Holder, or anyone connected to him found Nell.” He turns to Nell’s touch and puts his phone in her outstretched hand.

 

“Eric? My birth name is Caren. With a C, Carin Winslow.” She gives her original social security number and begins to fill him in. She paces while talking. Her voice is level, but tight. Her expression far away. This is hard.

Callen leaves the room. He wants to hear the details, but he also wants to give her some privacy. He needs to process what she’s already told him. It explains why her records start in high school. Explains why she’s so good at creating legends. She lives a legend. And now he knows her name. He digs around in the kitchen. As always the OSP support team has done a great job of stocking the fridge and the shelves. He loads up two glasses with ice and water.

He sets a glass of water on the kitchen bar where Nell can see it, nods her toward it. He steps out into the small yard. The sun is setting, the sky bronze-colored with a long fingers of clouds stretching out over the unseen ocean. Cold water is refreshing, normal. The deepening intrigue of Nell isn’t making her less fascinating, rather the opposite. The intrigue of Carin? He kicks a toe into the dirt. Something he did as a kid that he doesn’t do often nowadays.

 

When he comes back in the living room is empty, the house quiet. His phone is on the counter, the water glass isn’t. He finds Nell sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall, water glass clasped in her hands. She couldn’t have made herself much smaller, and his stomach tightens. “Hey.”

 

Her gaze comes to him. The clear maple color of her eyes is hot and angry, fading to welcome and then to pleasure. The corner of her mouth tips up. “Hey.”

 

After a moment’s consideration Callen steps beside her and slides to the floor until he sits beside her. “I’m not a fan of being stuck in corners either.” He lifts the glass from her hands and sets it on the bedside table. She tilts, leaning and ends up on his shoulder with a deep sigh. He puts an arm around her, ruffling her hair. “What can I do?” She shakes her head. He pulls her closer. “You thinking about running?” She nods. He drops a kiss in her hair. “Me, too.” She snuggles into his side. “But, please don’t.” He whispers. “I will keep you safe.”

 

“I know.” She sniffs.

 

He leans over, hooks a finger under her chin and lifts her face. He wipes a thumb across her cheek. “I kinda don’t want to leave you here.”

 

“Then stay.”

 

The invitation is warm and something more. He stands, pulling Nell to her feet, his mouth suddenly dry with a scary combination of anticipation and doubt. What is he doing here? She reaches for him and thought dissolves into crushing his mouth to hers. He lifts her, presses her back to the wall and she climbs him, legs coming tight around his waist, lips opening to his. He darts his tongue into her mouth and her tongue meets his, tangling, tantalizing, sends a tingle straight to his crotch and steals his breath. Her hands press on his belly, tug on his t-shirt. Her fingers find skin and he gasps. He sets her back on the floor and leans away.

They’re breathless. There is no mistaking the want in her eyes answers his own. “I’ll stay.” He says, his voice is gruff. “If you want. Protection is gonna be a challenge. I wasn’t planning. Didn’t think.”

Nell considers him, her cheeks rosy, her eyes still and dark. She reaches into her back pocket and slides a condom out. She tosses it on the bedside table like a gauntlet. “I want you.” Simple. “You.” Her hands on his shoulders, her face tilted up, mouth wet.

Callen accepts that, tugging her to him, savoring the grip of her thighs at his ribs. She tastes of salt and soap, his mouth trails down her throat across her shoulder. He wants to consume her. He slips his hands up under her t-shirt and spans her ribs, savoring silky skin. She’s got his belt buckle open and the metallic riff of his zipper sounds exactly right. Reigning in desire he sets her on the bed, peeling off his shirt. His jeans fall from his hips and he steps away from them.

Nell admires him openly, taking in his lean square muscular build, long torso, flat belly, the ridge of his erection clearly outlined in black jersey. He’s big, and contemplating that she swallows. Color deepens in his chest and rises to this face, but he looks back at her steadily. His blush is pleasing. She leans to him slowly, rests a hand on his chest, fingers trace gently over the still fiery red scar on his belly. She presses her mouth along the new skin. She touches each of the five star shaped scars on his chest. Acknowledging and moving past. She rises to her knees and then her mouth touches his, her body arches against him. His hands slide down her back, under the waistband of her jeans, pushing the fabric down, cupping her butt, pulling tight to him. She feels him strain the fabric of his jockeys, push against her. She grinds on him, wanting more friction, teasing. Enjoying his desire.

The heat of his mouth opening beneath hers is a demand. She shimmies out of jeans and panties, pulling his jockeys off in a single tug. They fall together onto the satiny duvet of the bed, skimming over its surface and around each other, until he is over her. He makes quick work of the condom wrapper before Nell snags the condom from his hand and takes her sweet slow time unrolling it on him with small caressing hands. He groans with the thrill of her hands on him, measuring, exploring. She grins at the pulse of his impatience in her hands. The unconscious thrust on her palm, the heaviness of his erection. She’s not in a hurry, learning the curves of him, the proportions.

Impatient to enter her, wanting to proceed with caution, he yanks his focus from her touch to soothe his hand across her belly until he finds soft curls. Her thighs are slickly wet, hinting at the pleasure to come. He mimics her exploring, sliding two fingers up into her. Her gasp is perfect. He curls his fingers toward him, curving them into her sweetly swollen flesh. Her hand jerks on him, her hips buck. She suddenly has both hands on his chest, eyes closed, mouth open, head back. He kisses her neck, stroking until she mewls yearning. He withdraws his fingers, taking a quick lick of tangy liquid. Her whimper is all the enticement required.

The suddenness and completeness when he comes flush up into her stuns. Nell loses herself in the melting power of his thrust. The rhythm he sets is fast, deep and pushes her hard into orgasm. She clutches around him, moaning. He drives through her pleasure, unable to slow, needing this, and chasing her. She cries out softly, fire burning desperately up through her. When the pleasure continues building shockingly insistent she no longer knows where she begins or ends with him.

Callen wants all of her. Wants her utterly. She takes him, then opens further and takes him deeper.  She pulls him into her deep and hard, wiping away all hesitation and reserve. Her complete surrender takes him with her and for a devastating moment he vanishes into her, his orgasm surging up, through him, through her, and he’s lost.

 

When Nell surfaces from the edge of consciousness she’s dimly aware of the strange surroundings. Mostly she’s acutely aware of Callen cradled on her hips, the press of him satisfyingly heavy. Sensing her alertness, he lifts slightly taking his weight on his arms. He kisses her shoulder, rubs his face and beard against her neck. The rough nuzzle is blissfully pleasing. She revels in his smell, dense and rich. He’s so close she can’t focus on him. She rubs her face against his, nose to nose, lips brushing his softly, breathing him in. She kisses him with a softly exploring mouth, she lingers on his lips while she shifts easily out from under him. He rolls and rests among the pillows, fitting her against him snugly. She explores his face with her mouth and hands, learning the structure of bones under skin, measuring the different textures with her lips and fingertips. She’s damp and shaky still from their lovemaking. She curls into the curve of Callen’s body, resting her head to his chest where she listens to the reassuring thump of his heart and the gentle swish of his breath. She closes her eyes.

Callen feels her ease into his embrace, tremors running through her that whip up the residual butterflies in his belly. He rests his head on a pillow, his face in her hair, eyes shut. He holds her close, hand curved around breast, leg over hips.

“How old were  you?” He brushes hair from her face.

“16."

The lines of his mouth harden. Nell traces his lips with a finger. “Don’t suffer that for me. I’m ok.”

“How is that?” Doubt tinges his voice.

She thinks for long moments before answering. When she answers, her tone is level and almost matter of fact. “That night, worse things happened to other people I knew. Yes, I was groped and mauled and shoved around, I was hit, but I wasn’t raped. I didn’t die. So that’s part of it. Before then I was in foster care from the age of 4 until I was 12. Never abused, but abandoned. A lot. Belinda plucked me out of a children’s shelter, and it felt like sheer luck, crazy Cinderella stuff. When I killed Derek, she made sure I was utterly protected. They moved us all to Switzerland, G. So I wouldn’t have to deal with his brothers. So I’d be safe. Since then, all of this,” she gestures at the air, “all the training, all of this has got to be part of wanting to be absolutely strong and fearless.”

“S’not going to protect you from a machine gun on a motorcycle.”

“I see that.” She admits. “Anyway. Here’s the bottom line. If I was black, or still in foster care then, I would be in jail for life. I’m not. So. I’m ok.” She flips onto her belly so she can look at him face to face. “But, thank you, for being upset about it.” She kisses his chin. “You mentioned you wanted to talk about that kiss earlier?”

His eyes come to her instantly. Her’s are deep brown hazel, twinkling with mischief. He laughs. Really laughs. A laugh that cascades up from pure pleasure. Almost as good as the sex was. Almost.

~o~

 

“Hey Dad.” Grace Hanna at seven is tall and skinny to the point of scrawny. “Is Uncle G coming tonight?”

“Probably not.” Sam sifts through mail on the entry table. “Happy to see you, too.”

Grace giggles and crashes into her father. “Welcome home, dad.”

He snuggles her close for a second. He’s going to miss it when Gracie catches Zara’s pre-teen distain. Lately Zara is calling herself Z. If it works for Uncle G. Michelle comes around the corner from the bedroom and kisses him in greeting. “G go home?” She asks.

Sam pointedly waits while Grace flounces off to the family room and the tv. He smirks. “I doubt it. If I was a bettin’ man…”

“Which you are.” Michelle chides.

“Which I am.” He concedes. “My bet is he’ll stay with Nell.” Michelle’s brow arches upward. Sam gives her all the events from the day, leaving out no detail. Perhaps Michelle knows something or can help.

 

Michelle’s expression goes from surprised concern to stern anger as she listens. When he gets to the part about G and Nell, her expression softens to amused. “You really think?”

In the kitchen, Sam prepares to cook, getting bowls and pans out.  “I know him. He’s had a hard on for that girl since he met her. Though he’d tell you different. When she hauled him out of that mess a couple months ago, she must’ve said or done something, because since then they make Marty and Kensi look like acquaintances.”

Michelle gets a cut of beef tenderloin from its marinade in the refrigerator. “Sam. No.”

“It’s a regular pheromone stew everyday at work. And they all think they’re being cool and detached.” Sam clucks. He got celery on the cutting board and a large knife.

“They probably are.” Michelle soothes. “You notice very subtle stuff, my love.” She kisses his chin. “G with a girlfriend.” She muses.

“Don’t remind me. It’s time to cook. Come on.”

 


	2. “Quite an honor guard.”

The break in at Nell’s apartment happens overnight. Eric had a notification set on his phone to pick up any calls to LAPD from her address and he’s up and on the computer looking for surveillance, listening to the uniforms on the radio. He punches up Nell’s mobile.

Callen’s awake, a bit stunned by the presence of a sleeping Nell in his arms, when her phone rings. Seeing it’s Eric, he shakes her awake and answers the call. “Callen.” The ensuing silence is telling and long. It is 4 am and he’s answering Nell’s phone. She sees his face as he extends the phone to her and is laughing when she answers.

“Eric, what’s up?” More silence. “Eric?”

“Did Callen just answer your phone?”

“What’s up?” She repeats.

“Someone broke into your apartment. Your neighbor - somebody Hicks - called it in. Your place is trashed, kiddo. You want me to have a uniform come get you? Or…”

“No. Um, just tell them I’ll come down to the station unless they want me at the scene.”

“And tell them you’re ok?”

“Yes. Tell them that.” She looks at the phone, perplexed. “Thanks, Eric.” She ends the call and rests her forehead on her knees. She peers over at Callen from behind a curtain of fine brown tresses. “Someone broke into the apartment. Guess I should go see what’s missing. Make a statement.”

Callen is torn between pulling her back into his arms and the urge to go see what happened. “Not a chance. This could be shot a drawing you out. You aren’t going anywhere near there.” He reluctantly rolls to the edge of the bed and sits. His hand runs down her spine. He brushes hair over her shoulder. “They can interview you at the boathouse. Marty can bring the crime scene photos for you to see what’s missing. Whoever these bozos are, they don’t know where you work or they wouldn’t be thrashing around like this. Two really aggressive, careless stunts. Gonna make ‘em easy to get.” He’s up, pulling on his pants.

Nell is still, watching him absently. “There are five of them.”

Callen stops to look at her, dismay crossing his handsome features. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah.”

He returns to the edge of bed and sits next to her. “Don’t let this get you.”

“I feel like I’m sixteen again. Callen, I didn’t even bring my gun when we left. It’s like my brain flipped an off switch. I feel so damn helpless.” She slaps the bed with both hands in rather childish frustration that elicits his grin. She sticks her tongue out at him and groans.

That makes him laugh despite his concern. He sits on the edge of the bed with her again. “Hey. Hey.” He waits for her eyes. “Helpless happens. Sometime can’t be avoided when you’re ganged up on. Trust me, I know about it.” He takes her hand and places it on the scar on his abdomen. “I was pretty fucking helpless. You came and got me.”

She blinks. “You were on the job. I was on the job. This is different.”

“No. Doesn’t matter.”

“Callen, I…”

“When you came in after me, you called me G.” He remarks.

“You remember that?” Distracted from her tantrum she stills to look at him. A blush stains her cheeks. “It just slipped out. You looked so wrecked it made me hurt.”

“Well, it’s my name. Maybe now that we’re… whatever we are… maybe you could call me G.”

Intrigued, and feeling a bit like avoiding life for another moment she scoots over to him, looking into his eyes with coy curiosity. “Whatever are we?” He doesn’t answer, leveling a cool blue gaze at her with half a smile. “Whatever are we, G?” She loves saying his name. Has thought of him as G ever since her hand fell to his chest the first time. She says it with audible affection, the traces of coyness slipping away.

“I don’t know.” He allows, smile widening. He leans to kiss her lightly. “But we’re not nothing.”

“No, I don’t suppose we’re nothing.” She kisses him back.

“You’re not the only one of us whose past can come back and bite them.” He continues to hold his hand over hers on his belly, she feels the vibration of his voice when he speaks. She ripples her fingers on his skin.

She’s liking the sound of us. She’s been on her own for awhile. It’s strangely wonderful that others are beginning to know who she is, actually is. That he is beginning to know her. Her phone rings in her hand, startling them both. “Oh shit.” She looks, “it’s LAPD. Damn it.” She takes the call. While she answers questions, G continues dressing. Nell climbs out of bed, phone to her ear, and begins to tug on panties, walking to the bathroom. The only way he can think of this being a more pleasing sight would be if it weren’t under duress. He sighs.

When Nell and Kensi packed her up to go, Nell had the foresight to take all of her electronics, work related paraphernalia and critical paper. In fact, because she lives an alias, the most important things are in a safe deposit box in Zurich. Which doesn’t mean she didn’t have things she cared about at the apartment. Callen stands behind the two-way and watches her look through crime scene photos. He doesn’t want to see her pain. He can’t remember ever  struggling not to look away. Sam stands beside him, arms crossed over his wide chest. Eric is there, too. He’s seen the photos and narrates what she’s looking at when he can.

Hetty opens the door to the observation room. The three men look back at her, guilt clear on their faces. She smiles, looks from them to where Deeks stands in the corner of the interrogation room and Kensi sits beside Nell. “Quite an honor guard.” She comments. “And well deserved. But I suspect Miss Jones can manage this part. You may be able to serve her better while doing your jobs, gentlemen.”

They file out of the room dutifully, heading out and across the long sloping lawn back to OSP. Sam nudges Callen. “How’d that go for you last night?”

Eric cringes. He’s not usually privvy to the team’s personal conversations. Having heard Callen’s voice on Nell’s phone this morning he is intently interested in some answers. Callen doesn’t break stride, but he doesn’t have a glib comeback either.

Sam nods appreciatively. “Wow. Alright, then.”

Eric didn’t sense any response from Callen at all and flashes Sam a questioning look. Several quiet steps later Callen tilts his head. Sam nods again and as far as Eric can tell the conversation is over. “Does that mean what I think it means?” The older men look back unhelpfully. Eric lifts his hands. “Guys?”

Back in Tech Ops, Eric starts gathering intel on all five of the living Holder sibling. He’s located all but two of them. Callen and Sam lurk behind him, glaring at his screens. Holder Inc. is a multibillion dollar international corporation at the forefront of agribusiness and genetically modified plants. While a publicly held entity the family as an aggregate is the majority shareholder. To say they are rich is a gross understatement. James Holder left federal prison in a suit and stepped into a limousine. None of the family has been anywhere near LA in over a year.

“They’re hiring this out.” Callen mutters.

“Gotta be.” Sam agrees. “No one in this crowd is gonna get anywhere near this.”

“Eric, find out how anyone got a conviction against this asshole fifteen years ago.” Callen suggests. “That’s a stiff sentence for someone like him. And, it looks like the family could have come after Nell at any point. Why now that he’s out? It feels wrong. Too obvious.” He jerks his head at Sam and they head down the stairs.

“What are you thinking, G?” There’s already a caution in Sam’s voice. The two men lock gazes. Sam begins to shake his head. “Can’t let you do that, man.” G’s jaw clenches. Sam puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “No way, G. No way.”

Hetty approaches the two men. “This case just went to the FBI, gentlemen. I want every scrap of information we have inroute immediately. Hetty waits long enough for Callen to balk, if he’s going to balk. He’s clearly considering it. Then he doesn’t. She heads up the the stairs to consult.

Sam keeps a close eye on Callen while they settle uneasily into their chairs. Callen’s gaze is far away. Sam boots up his system, glancing over at Callen intermittently. When Callen is motionless for five long minutes, Sam interrupts him. “It only makes sense, G. It’s not in our jurisdiction.”

“We protect our own.” G comments, his gaze finally focusing in the room.

“Nobody says we won’t.” Sam’s voice softens. G is in an entirely different place with this than Sam would’ve predicted yesterday. When he figured G stayed with Nell, he wasn’t thinking things would progress so quickly. Because this is clearly a man whose lover is being threatened. Which wasn’t the case yesterday. Sam re-adjusts his assumptions and re-thinks his tactics for managing G. Michelle has always said that when G got a woman, Sam wouldn’t have to babysit quite so much. Looks like she was wrong about that. At least for the moment. G is not someone you want on the loose after someone. He gets up and goes to perch on G’s desk. “Listen, G. We got this. I’ll make sure that we are Nell’s protection detail.” He watches G’s face. “Okay, that you are Nell’s protection detail.” That covers two bases, Nell is safe and G isn’t off the reservation chasing anybody. G finally nods. Once. Sam stands and heads to Hetty. Makes him tired just thinking about this mess. If it isn’t one thing, it’s two.

Nell goes through the pictures from her apartment slowly and carefully, pointing out the less obvious damage. Nothing missing. Everything, absolutely everything is destroyed. The furniture is sliced open, every breakable item, from picture frames to glasses, to vases to windows is shattered. Her clothing is cut and torn, including coats, boots, dresses, pants, underwear. There are holes in the walls. Books are torn apart. The carpet is pulled up. Dishes are broken and strewn across three rooms. All she wants at the moment is to hear her mother’s voice. Everything can be replaced. She can move. She could theoretically disappear.

Marty checks his phone and motions for Kensi to step outside the room. Nell wonders what’s happening while she waits for the detectives to wrap up final interview notes. She hasn’t said anything about having changed her name, or Holders or murder. The detectives aren’t buying that she has no idea why someone was shooting at her yesterday and has torn up her home today. But they’re respecting the line, not badgering her, she appreciates it. They clearly assume NCIS will handle whatever this is, and that it could be damn near anything. But, they’re doing the job until told otherwise.

Kensi comes back and takes the chair next to Nell, indicating the phone. Nell checks and sees the text from G. Case going to Amy Rand at FBI. She blinks at that. Sighs. Puts the phone back in her pocket and gives her face to the detectives. Almost done. With this part. Not done with her life falling apart. Again. She killed the wrong brother. Derek Holder was her attacker, no doubt. But, James is a compensated psychopath. Prison cannot have helped. Kensi’s hand on hers makes her realize she wringing them. Fretting. Nell forces her hands to relax.

Kensi puts her hand on the table. “We probably need to be done, here.” She announces. “Miss Jones needs some recovery time. If there’s anything else, we can get in touch? Yes?”

The detectives retreat, littering the table with business cards. Nell drops her head to her arms on the table. Kensi rubs her back, silent company. At the moment, everything Nell can think of to do feels useless or wrong. Could be she’s tired. Could be she’s triggered. Could be there’s nothing to do. Kensi stands, but Nell can’t be bothered. “I’ll be there in a while.” She murmurs, without looking up.

A heavier hand moves up her back between her shoulder blades to the nape of her neck and into her hair. G. She turns her head, meeting his steel blue gaze. He sits, rests his arm on the table and lowers his head level with hers. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Want to get out of here? Go back to the safehouse? What?”

She shakes her head. Shaking off some of the malaise. “Nothing to do there. Might as well work.” She touches his lips. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

“I’m doing it.” He kisses her finger tip. “You’re looking at your new body guard.”

Her smile is slow and wide. “My body certainly likes the idea. Are you serious?”

“The FBI is handling the investigation. NCIS is handling the protection detail. That’s me.”

“Okay. Well I don’t think I need protecting while I’m here. I was just going to go up to work.”

G nods. “Ok.” He weaves his fingers between hers. “Then I’ll go do my work, and if you leave this building, you’re with me.” His tone is stern.

Looking on from screens up in Tech Ops, Kensi nudges Marty. “When the hell did that happen?”

“No idea.” He says. Audio from the boathouse is off, but the image of Callen and Nell, head to head, fingers entwined is undoubtedly more suggestive without sound.

“He answered her phone at 4 this morning.” Eric contributes cheerfully, his own fingers flying over his keyboard, organizing incoming intel on several potential cases.

“Is this whole him guarding her thing a good idea then?” Kensi ventures.

Marty looks at her, an eyebrow up, mouth quirked. “You want to try and stop him?”

~o~

Dinner is over, the girls are at the dining table doing homework, Mitch is on the other end of the couch with a book, her toes tucked under his thigh. Sam’s got his feet up on the ottoman and the game on. No beer, because he’s on call, but otherwise, exactly what he wants life to look like. His phone chimes with a text. _I need a bed._ G. Sam snorts. Shoots back. _For you or for Nell?_ He chuckles.

Michelle lowers her book. “What?” Sam shows her the screen. She looks back at him with a question in her eyes.

Sam explains. “Nell refused the safe house. G refused to let her out of his sight. They compromised on staying at his house.”

“Didn’t she know he doesn’t have anything in his house?”

“I thought so.” Sam shrugs, as another chime signals. _Yes. Help?_ Sam shows the reply to Michelle, shaking his head.

“Be nice.” She ducks behind her book again, an affectionate smile on her lips.

Sam lets his eyes go back to the Lakers game. Purchasing beds isn’t difficult. Renting them isn’t even difficult. In fact OSP would probably furnish it for them if Hetty requisitioned it as part of a mission. Even G isn’t expecting him to get up off the sofa and go buy and deliver a bed. What does he need? Honestly, raising G is one surprise after another.

When they first met, Sam experienced G as the single most infuriating human on the planet. No social skills whatsoever, no connection to anyone, the man was basically a weapon. Not a partner. You aimed him. You couldn’t talk to him. Then Sam realized G is the little brother he needs. That changed the entire dynamic. Sam schools him, protects him, pushes him, loves him. The Hanna’s have collectively sucked G into their family, where they can coddle him from time to time, and keep an eye on him.

Sam grew up with a single mother and two older sisters. He lives with a wife and two daughters. Still, he was lucky. The pastor of the church his mother attended took Sam under his wing. Sam is smart and polite, he excelled in school and had teachers who cared about him, made opportunities for him. Michelle’s father couldn’t love him more if he was blood. G never had any of that. Worse, he didn’t have a mother and two sisters who petted him everyday, and still do when they get the chance. In fact, never does a day go by that Sam doesn’t get a message of some sort from one of them.

After a few more moments thought, Sam sends back his best advice. _Tell her why you don’t have anything. What permanence does to you. Then let her decide what to do about beds._ Michelle nudges Sam, curls all the way up to look at the phone screen. She kisses his neck. She repositions so her back is against his side and goes back to reading. He curves an arm around her and settles in.

~o~

Nell knew G didn’t have furniture in a theoretical kind of way. The island of her two suitcases, laptop, and jacket in the otherwise empty dining room make the theory very real, very fast. She’s just peeked in three empty bedrooms. There aren’t even hangers in the closets. She returns to the living room and sinks unceremoniously to sit cross legged on the floor.

G brings two bottles of chilled water from the kitchen, sprawls beside her. “Are you sure about the safe house? It might be easier.” He offers.

Nell sips, surveys the room. The recliner, the floor lamp, neat stacks of books along the near wall under the front window. Sleeping pallet up against the far wall, reading lamp. One book open on the floor there. “This is fine. More than what I’ve got, huh? I can live out of my suitcases for awhile.” It’s true. G’s meager belongings are a hundred percent more than hers anymore, which is pretty pitiful.

“We can get some dinner.” G starts. “I usually just hang out and read.”

“That sounds nice, actually.” And it does. Peaceful. “But, I need to call my parents. Let them know what’s going on. My mom is gonna flip. If I’m not careful she’ll have flesh-eating lawyers breathing fire on everything in no time.” Nell says this with rue and love in her eyes, her lips curved in a broad smile. She doesn’t want the lawyers, but she loves her mother’s ferocity. She loves the protection. Thinking about fierce love, ferocity and protection takes her gaze back to G. He is suddenly and rather completely the embodiment of such. She wonders what she ever did in this life or a past one to deserve such powerful defenders. She fishes her phone from her rear pocket and gives it her full attention. It’s midnight in London, but a day has already passed and any more delay will be inexcusable.

They still don’t have enough information about who is after Nell, what they know or what kind of resources they have. Vandalizing her place as a way to draw her out isn’t either stupid or smart, it’s rather predictable in a way. But G doesn’t even have enough information to want to call for delivery or leave her to go get take out. He decides to cook. He doesn’t have a ton of food in the house, and most of it’s breakfast stuff. He could make a decent omelette. He goes into the kitchen and begins preparing food.

First he texts Sam. The bed thing is awkward. If they’d stayed at the safe house, he could scoop her up and take her to the bed they already shared. No problem. Who knew that gesture was dependent on a bed? It’s undeniable, even to him, that scooping and carrying someone to a bedroll for one just isn’t romantic, or even funny. Could be ridiculous. Help. He breaks five eggs into a glass bowl and sets them aside to reach room temperature. He passes on the onion, too strong, and goes for mushrooms.

Make the bedroll bigger. No. Weird. He slices. He’s got some spinach, and ham. Does she eat any meat? He puts the ham back. The stilton would be good with the mushrooms.  He gets out the cheese and grater. Make a second bedroll? No. Weirder. He glances up and sees Nell curl into the recliner. The giant chair dwarfs her, she tucks her feet under her and leans the arm of the chair. Her hair is loose around her face and shoulders. She wears her hair up at work and it surprises him she doesn’t wear it up otherwise. It falls in burgundy sheaves that shimmer in the late evening sunshine. He heats his pan.

In a touch of olive oil G sautes mushrooms, wilts the spinach and sets them aside. Another few drops of oil, lower the fire and whip the eggs. He watches the eggs cook, timing the cheese so it will melt. The veggies go in, fold, and done. Pan off the fire, lid on for a second to make sure everything heats through to the same temperature. He puts plates and cutlery on the bar. He serves the plates, and takes one across the room to her. She accepts the plate with a grateful smile, balances it on the arm of the chair and takes a bite. She chews and listens, takes another bite. She’s hungry and seems fine with the omelette. G goes back to the bar to eat.

“I did, mom. I will.” Nell’s turn to talk, and G isn’t sure where to go to avoid listening. Though she knows he’s there. “No. Actually Agent Callen is keeping an eye on me and I’m staying with him. No. No, please don’t, this is so much safer. Yes, that Agent Callen. I know. Gah, mom. Can’t we just hang on until we find out… I know. I will. I love you, too.”

G turns on the barstool and shoots Nell a questioning look? “That Agent Callen?”

She was clearly starving. Her plate is nearly clean. “I’d kinda mentioned you to her before. You know when we had the…” she waves a hand, “and I was worried about you.”

“Please tell me that’s code for interested in me.” He arches a brow.

“Could be.” She purses her lips. She carries her plate into the kitchen. On her way back, she stops at the bar. She fits herself between his legs and rests her hands on his chest. She kisses him with slow deliberation. “Yummy. Thank you.” She kisses his chin. “I don’t suppose we can go to a movie or something else normal?”

G narrows his eyes. It’s not entirely out of the questions, but, “I’d rather not until we know more.”

Nell nods. “Ok. Then I guess we’ll read.”

“It’s not really a two person house.” He admits, apology in his voice.

“You aren’t two people. No reason it should be. This’ll work.” She says. She clears his plate “I’m pretty sure we’ll both fit in that chair.”

G laughs. “Come on, I’ll wash if you dry.”

They do the dishes together in peaceable silence, and they both fit in the recliner, though most of Nell is more on G than the chair. She sits sidewise on his lap, head on his chest, legs over the arm of the chair. She reads something on her phone while he seems to alternate between a novel and the top of her head. It’s nice to be on him and she has a fleeting hope she’s not using him for both protection and escape. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against him, examining how this feels. It feels like a comforting island of security, yes. She trusts him utterly. Would she be feeling any of this if not for gunfire yesterday? If her life wasn’t shredding in front of her? Maybe? It’s a lot. She’s tired. She can’t think on it now. Instead, she curls, turning slightly until her ear is nestled on his chest and she goes to sleep.

G senses Nell fall asleep. He puts his book down and holds her, which is lovely. It also feels like some sort of defense mechanism. Defensive sleeping. Retreat. Not his MO, but he understands it. The body in full panic needs to rest when it can. He’d not envisioned being that place himself, but he takes it as a compliment. He solves the bed problem for tonight by reclining. He dozes for a short time, but he isn’t going to sleep. He’s on duty. Nice duty, but still on duty. He picks the book back up and reads in earnest.

G finishes his novel at two am, Nell sound asleep in his arms. How she manages to sleep so completely in a strange house on top of someone is beyond him and he's flattered. He's also stiff and restless. He gradually rolls, shifting her weight until she rests on the chair and he can slip out from under her onto his feet. He watches her for a long moment while her breathing settles, then he grabs his laptop and takes it to the counter.

They all left OSP a little after six, but Eric’s clearly been working since then and the results of an extensive search of the Holder finances are in the the shared files. G begins to gist the data, looking for any pattern that might tell him anything helpful about anything nefarious. He sorts information about James' release from prison, any family finances heading toward him since then. He transmits thoughts and intel to the team and Agent Rand, before closing the laptop heading for his bedroll.

Nell wakes to the sound of tapping. G’s at the kitchen counter, hunched over his computer. The silvery light of the screen lights his profile. He’s intent, working furiously. She smiles. She closes her eyes, her mom's voice in her head. Get low, stay safe. Call every day. She can do that. Sleep was good, she feels a bit better. She hears the laptop close and G move across the room. She opens her eyes and watches him sink onto the bedroll. The perfect distraction. She unfolds.

Her box of condoms is in her suitcase. She’d taken one out yesterday when she packed in the hopes Callen’s kiss meant what she wanted it to. On the way to her suitcase she squirms out of her bra from under her t-shirt. She unzips the bag and fishes out a cellophane wrapper. With the condom between her teeth, she shucks her jeans on her way to where Callen lies watching from the floor. He doesn't move, other than a widening half smile.

She puts a leg over him, lowering to straddle his hips. "Gotta minute?"

He plucks the condom from her lips and it vanishes. Under the pillow or sheets, she assumes. His grin deepens. "I do."

"Oh good." She slips a hand under the waistband of his sweats and wraps around him. Her smile widens as he hardens in her grip. “Very good.”

“Woman.” He sighs.

She runs her thumb over his tip in firm circles. “What?”

He takes her wrist and removes her hand. “Hang on.” He takes both her hands and holds them against his chest. “Is this defensive sex, like the sleep?”

A blush blooms in her cheeks and spreads, spilling down her neck and chest. “ I, uh…”

“It’s okay. I just want to be clear.” His eyes are dark blue, intent on hers.

“I don’t know. Maybe, a little.” Her voice is soft, face still rosy. She catches her bottom lip in her teeth. “Also fun?”

“Definitely that.”  

Nell sits back, keeping his hands. She holds his gaze, her expression solemn. “This is way tangled up in wanting to fuck you and having a reason now.” She’s thinking aloud. “I wish I knew where this starts and ends, but I…”

“S’okay.” He loves the sound of her voice wrapped around wanting to fuck him. If it was a calculated comment, it was genius. If it wasn’t, it’s… he doesn’t care. He moves, flips her over til he’s on top of her, crowding her with his weight, making sure she feels how viscerally interested he is. “I can be plenty distracting.” He traces her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, catches her lip gently in his teeth. When he kisses her, the kiss is deep, peels back layers of reserve, drinks her breath away.

Nell sinks into the kiss, exploring. He’s deliciously heavy, she wraps her legs around his hips, taking his full weight. He’s kissing, licking her neck, past her collarbone, sucking gently. A hand comes up under her t-shirt and cups her breast, warm, rough. She sighs, a zing of desire whipping down to her center. His other hand still holds her hands above her head, keeping her from touching him. She wriggles, pressing up against his erection, tightening her knees to his ribs. He growls, pushing back, rocking maddenly out of reach.

She slips her hands from his and tugs her t-shirt up and away, wanting to feel his skin on her. He murmurs his appreciation and takes a nipple in his mouth, teasing with tongue and teeth. She slides hands around his waist, under the elastic of his sweats, down his butt, urging him toward her. He chuckles, nips her, elicits a squeek. Then he shifts, trailing his mouth down across her belly, slipping fingers up under the crotch of her panties. With thumb and two fingers her caresses her inside and out, triggering an immediate gush and a moan. Yanking the panties clean off he replaces hand with a hot mouth. The thrill vibrates up and she quakes, hands coming to his shoulders.

“G.”

“Mmmm?” His tongue is in her, she can hardly think beyond wanting.

“Aghhhh, pleeeaaase.” A hiss.

She has no idea when he loses the sweats or puts on the condom because he’s entering her in a long slow thrust that sets her insides on fire. Everything in her clutches with the pleasure of sweet release. She rocks, coaxing a deeper, harder rhythm. She savors his groan of pure delight as he chases her up, up and gone.

G breathes into Nell’s neck. “Woman.”

“Man.” She mimics on a laugh. He rolls to her side, gathering her close. She snuggles, traces a hand up his chest where she spreads her fingers. Small quakes of pleasure still zip through her, aftershocks. He opens her up like nothing before. “Thank you.” A contented sigh escapes. He tightens around her in a hug, shifts to get comfortable, drapes an arm over her.

G has only admitted to himself, and to Sam of course, that he’s never been in love. How can you be in love when the person you are with doesn’t know who you are? When you can’t let them in, or even close? Sam assures him it’s not possible. It might be a lot of things, but it’s not in love. Worse, it’s probably a lie. Something they have both dealt with on the job, the need to lie and in the process to hurt others. Sometimes deeply. One of the many high costs of their line of work.

What Sam has with Michelle has always defied G's imagination. There is a trust, a tolerance, a truth between them that is tangible. It is there in every touch, glance, laugh. He has only rarely allowed himself to imagine what it must be like when they make love. Surely that’s what they do, whereas he has only ever had sex. Until now.

Being with Nell is more intimacy than he’s ever had. After all, she knows almost as much about him as he does himself. She knows what’s happened to him, where he’s been, who he’s been. And she's here. Where ever it was they started, he’s not entirely sure, they ended somewhere he hasn’t been before. Satisfaction ripples through his body in sense memory of getting utterly lost in her. Something new.

~o~

Sam’s advice about the bed problem is excellent, but Callen can’t have that conversation while Nell is feeling so trapped. Instead he takes a half hour at work to order two queen sized teak bed platforms, thick organic mattresses, egyptian cotton bed linens, delicately thin down comforters. It’s never been about not knowing what he likes. If the fact of them bothers him he’ll close the bedroom doors and sleep on the floor.

LAPD requests assistance on a drug bust showing confusing Cambodian ties. That puts everyone on computers and phones tracking known sources and turning up new leads. Callen and Sam pay a visit to a dealer they’ve used as an informant on some human trafficking cases, looking for connections and information. Callen leaves Hetty and Nell with strict instructions that Nell not leave the building for any reason until his return.

Nell saturates her senses with work. On the web, digging around in various data sources, she is safe. Her brain is fully engaged and time flies past. She’s only dimly aware of Eric’s vigilance and G’s containment. Her fingers fly over her keyboard as she looks for various data connections while Eric analyzes an insane amount of video. They work together to identify all the players on four square blocks of LA and a busy pier. Giving LAPD some leads they didn’t have, and couldn’t have gotten without the federal warrants Nell fast tracked is satisfying. Before she knows it, Eric is on his feet, telling her it’s after 6 and they need to shut it down for the night.

She hadn’t known G was back. He’s at his desk approving paperwork when she comes down. “Hey. How’d it go with Sang?”

He glances up, types. Looks up and smiles. He shrugs. “Still an asshole. But he had information about how the product is hitting the street. Don’t know if that helps with how it got here in the first place. Maybe.”

“Home?” She gestures to the door with her chin.

“Yeah.” He stands. “We probably ought to shop a little on the way.”

“Shop.” Her query is in her tone.

“Got a couple of beds, linens and stuff, but we could pick up a lamp. Or two.”

“Beds?” She’s wondering about the plural. She tilts her head.

“Come on.” G moves toward the door.

They shop at an import store where goods and furnishing from Thailand and Morocco fill three large showrooms from floor to ceiling in a sensory overload of detailed carving, pierced metals, and lush fabric. Nell is enchanted. The uniform of jeans and t-shirt and the empty rooms at G’s house hadn’t prepared her for his taste in dark ornate woods or brilliant jewel tones. They finger wall hangings, peek through room dividers, sit on huge ottomans in shiny primary colors, lie back on curvy damask covered chaises. They leave with a pierced brass table lamp and a paper and bamboo box floor lamp.

Nell isn’t sure G picked out the lamps. She didn’t say anything about them, but he’s so damn observant, he knew they were her favorites. She doesn’t want him buying his furniture for her. When they get in the car she puts a hand on the gear shift. “Listen, I know you don’t like stuff. I don’t want you getting stuff because I’m too persnickety to stay in the safe house.”

“I should’ve ages ago.” He starts. He stops.

“What?”

“When I got attached to things, stuff, I got moved. None of it got moved with me. It was hard.” He says thoughtfully. “Or I was stuck with stuff used by the previous ten fosters. It was so much easier not to have…”

“Anything.” She finishes for him, nodding. “I remember.” They are quiet for a moment. G looks at her hand on the gear shift. She looks out the windshield. When her eyes come to his, her gaze is serious. “Ok. Look. I have to replace everything I owned. How about I buy some stuff, we use it at your house. You like it, you pay me for it, keep it. You don’t. I take it with me. No commitment either way until I move out. And if you don’t want to deal with it at all, it’s all gone with me. I’ll even buy the beds.” She’ll feel much better if she can start rebuilding in some way.

“Interesting.”

Two weeks, a set of dishes, a dining table, a leather sectional and a sound system later, G feels comfortable and crowded in his house. Closets have hangers and clothing in them, G’s clothes leave the laundry room for the master bedroom. A chest of drawers arrives and fills up with underwear, shorts and t shirts. They get grocery shopping every few days down to a routine, and a system of chores sorted out. Nell is a bit of clean freak, and while Callen doesn’t object to clean, he’s happy to balance her cleaning addiction for doing all the cooking and laundry.

While she likes having his undivided attention, Callen’s constant presence in the same room is either like a security blanket or a pebble in a shoe. Not much in between. He doesn’t watch tv, listen to music, go to movies, eat out - unless you count drive through, which she doesn’t - or talk. He doesn’t complain about any of the things she offers up for entertainment, but unless they are making love, at work, or he’s reading, she feels as if he’s slightly bored. For awhile that means they spend a lot of time at work. They arrive early, work hard and long, hit the gym, and head to his house in time to have a late dinner, make love and crash into bed. They’re both losing weight.

When G turns the full force of his considerable brain power on her, It’s amazing. He’s an intense, physical lover, willing to ratchet up tempo or force at any moment. He’s also scary observant. He’s picked up every kink, thrill, pleasure she knew she had, and found a few she had no idea were there. Amused by her desire for penetration, he finds as many ways of filling her as he can. Tongue down her throat, fingertip in her anus, cock balls deep inside, he induced an orgasm that dimmed her vision and had her shaking uncontrollably for fifteen minutes afterwards. Hours later she still shivered under his gaze. That night she slept thirteen hours.

Nell invites Marty and Kensi over for dinner and movie. She accepts Michelle’s invitation to spend a Saturday at the Hanna house for a swim party and bar-b-q. She has Eric over to play an online massive role playing game they’ve apparently been playing together for years. It’s all considerably more socializing than G has done in years. Combined. He’s a good host, and surprisingly entertaining, but in the aftermath he’s tired, taking to the last unfurnished room in the house to lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling for hours.

At OSP Nell catches Hetty at her desk and asks. “I don’t have any idea what he likes to do. Other than read. I’ve asked. He doesn’t know either. What do I do?”

Hetty doesn’t look up from her paperwork. “Try chess, Miss Jones.”

Turns out G has a lovely chess set in a wooden box Nell had assumed was a keepsake box. They are well matched in areas of strategy and analysis and their chess games are challenging, relaxing, long and fun. A glass of wine, classical guitar on the sound system, and chess fosters conversation that ranges wide and deep. They discuss literature and philosophy. They talk through world events and news. They talk in Russian and French, with which they are both fluent. They talk in Spanish. They talk in Arabic, which they both need to work on.

Amy Rand checks in with Nell every week, but it’s becoming clear the case is one of many she’s working and not a high priority one at that. Eric continues surveilling the Holders, reporting to G. As the weeks pass, the threat to Nell shifts from one of imminent danger to a long term risk. Nell knows it. G knows it. Neither one of them knows what to do about it. Nell begins looking for another apartment through an attorney her mother hires. G tries to imagine her moving out, and can’t.

G finds her dildo in the back pocket of her overnight bag. That night he spreads her naked on the kitchen island counter, slides the dildo flush up into her and licks her entire body until she screams. When he finally stands at the edge of the countertop and slides into her himself she comes so hard she holds her breath and blacks out for a second. Because she confesses this to him, and from then on he slows the pace if she stops breathing during lovemaking. She figures out how to breathe. 

Two days later she goes on the offensive. Watching him fold towels in the laundry room, she leans on the doorjamb. “How do you feel about being tied up?”

He freezes. His gaze comes to her, dark. “Kidding?”

“Asking.”

He puts the towel down, unfolded and steps to her. “I’d consider that. Would you?”

“May I do the tying first?”

Which is how she finds out he’s ticklish, leading to some silliness as the prelude to his discovery of exactly how good she is with her mouth. Surrender is not his strength. Secured with silk scarves to the dining table legs, he can’t reach her with hands or mouth as she straddles and rides him with excruciating deliberateness. She arches over him, glistening with sweat and blushing with pleasure until he strains for control, hips bucking to get deeper. Then she withdraws, takes him in her mouth, steals his breath, his control and suckles him into total submission. She grins up at him, silvery semen dripping from happy lips, a purr of satisfaction in her throat. His muscles quiver as she unties him, curls up next to him, breathes softly on his cheek until he finds his way back.

~o~

“This’ll take a hour or so, you don’t have to wait.” Nell is perched on the seat of the car, about to get out. G climbs out of the car anyway. She clicks her tongue at him. “You know, I’ve been getting my teeth cleaned on my own for years now.” She mutters.

“I do know.” He assures. He holds the door to the medical suite of offices open and she sweeps past him with a role of her eyes. He bows.

“Pit stop.” She nods toward the bathroom, turns, and takes two steps. Her line of travel is interrupted by a woman brushing past, a man comes out of the men’s room on the other side of the hallway and steps between her and G. A thud of heat lightning flashes up Nell’s back and she gasps, arches, fire burning along her spine. Her air comes out on a moan, legs buckle and the floor comes up to meet her face as her vision tunnels, dims and then nothing.

Nell falls, G's first instinct to catch her. He nearly does, sparing her head hitting the tiles. The attacker flees, G stands to give chase, sees the blood on his hand, reaches for his phone, cursing. He calls for an ambulance and then dials Eric, asks for back-up, giving up a description. He’s numb, watches blood leak from Nell much too fast. He peels off his shirt and wads it up against the wound he’s afraid to look at. She’s breathing. Someone nearby shrieks and others come toward them.

The sound of sirens approaching is as scary as it is comforting. Nell is warm and breathing under his hand, but otherwise limp. He can’t take her to Cedars-Sinai where someone else will easily find her. He gets Sam on the phone. “Where are you? They somehow knew about this damned dentist appointment. I have get her out of here. We’re sitting ducks.”

Before Sam can answer Hetty comes on. “Mr. Callen, how is she?”

“He stabbed her in the back. I don’t know. She’s alive.”

“The EMT’s are going to get her stable and get you to the roof. I’ve arranged to have her airlifted with confidential instructions.”

Callen doesn’t know what that means, but the EMT’s are coming in the door. Without comment, he ends the call. There’s nothing to do but be vigilant while the emergency personnel pack the wound, protect it, start IV fluids, strap Nell to a body board. She’s so small they don’t put her on a gurney, two of them lift her and carry her to the elevator, leaving him to trail them. The med-evac helicopter waiting for them on the roof is privately owned and has a surgeon on board. Nell disappears into the bay and Callen is pointed to a jumpseat behind the pilot. Moments later they land at the Van Nuys Airport where the entire crew, sans the pilot, transfers to a private jet.

 _Where are we going?_ Callen messages Eric.

_Vancouver. Courtesy of mom._

Nell’s reflexes save her spine. The stab wound nicks her L4, tears a significant amount of muscle and bruises her intestines. If she hadn’t moved she’d have died or been paralyzed, as it is she’s fine. Relatively. The blood loss is dealt with before they reach the hospital in Vancouver, where she goes immediately into surgery.

Callen leans on the wall in the hall directly across from the operating room. Hours have passed without him moving when a nurse steps out to let him know the surgery is finished. They trundle the gurney holding Nell past him and he touches her hand lightly as they wheel past and he falls into step.

The private room isn’t empty. A small dark haired woman sits in the side chair. She watches while the bed is situated, machines are attached and humming. When she can she takes Nell’s hand and holds it lightly, stroking the fingers. The surgeon arrives and explains what he found, how the surgery went. He expects a full recovery.

When the surgeon leaves, Callen begins texting information to the team. He’s interrupted by a surprisingly deep husky voice. “You must be Callen.”

He meets her eyes. “You must be mom.”

There’s an amused glint in her eyes as she extends a hand. “Belinda Shaw. Belinda.”

“G Callen.” He takes her hand. “I’m sorry. I wish we could’ve met another way.”

“If the other way is my daughter’s funeral then this is fine. My understanding is that I have her because she has you.” Belinda Shaw concedes. She returns to her chair and lifts Nell’s hand again. “I’m grateful.”

“I didn’t stop this.” His jaw knots.

Belinda gaze becomes speculative. “She didn’t bleed out on the tiles. You did fine. You should get some rest. She’s safe here.” Callen frowns, starts to protest, but she raises a hand. “My security staff are here. Her admission is sealed. The couch in the next room folds out into a bed. Lie down.” His eyes shift to Nell. She’s resting peacefully, her pale face a blank. Belinda reconsiders. “Okay. At least bring a comfortable chair in here and sit.”

It’s hard to believe Belinda Shaw isn’t Nell’s birth mother. They are physically similar, although Nell’s coloring is slightly lighter than her mom’s. There is a familiar buzz of energy and intellect around Belinda Shaw that Callen likes.

Nell wakes up slowly, slightly confused, really uncomfortable. She’s lying on her side, and her back hurts something wicked. “G?”

“Hey.” Callen’s face comes into view. He traces a finger gently around her face. He kisses her forehead. “Everything’s ok. Apparently you ducked. He caught you in the back, but no major damage. L4 is scraped, which will hurt like hell for a bit. Otherwise just tears and bruising.”

Nell’s fingers closed around his shirtsleeve. “You?”

“Worried about you. Otherwise fine.” He admits, his voice falling away to a whisper.

“You’re not hurt?”

He shakes his head, eyes intent on hers. After a moment’s reassurance her eyes close. He squeezes her hand. “Your mom’s here.”

Her mouth curves up. “I know.”

He watches her fall asleep, this time, more dozing than unconscious. He leans back, letting relief spill over him. There’s a good portion of anger mixed in. He rubs a hand over his face. when he looks up, Belinda Shaw is watching him. She tilts her head, and her expression is so Nell-like, a combination of curiosity and intellect that lasers through the subject of scrutiny. He takes in air, pulls himself up in the chair.

“You realize I’m not letting her back out there until this is taken care of.” Her voice is as crisp as her words are direct.

“Hope you have better luck than I did.”

Belinda laughs.

Callen’s doubt is all over his face, but the corner of his mouth lifts. "I’m going to step out and call the FBI to find out whose ass I need to kick.”


	3. “So, between the three of you, you could take down a government.”

Seeing G has no intention of going any farther than the hallway outside Nell’s hospital room door, Belinda takes charge of managing food and personal care. She gets all his clothing sizes and sends someone - he has no idea who - to bring back four changes of clothes right down to socks, slippers and a toiletry kit, all neatly packed in a nifty black roller bag. She arranges for meals to be delivered twice a day. When she comes up in the mornings she brings a hot tea latte and newspapers.

When Nell’s awake Belinda feeds her and G reads Tolstoy to her in Russian. When she’s asleep, G reads, talks to Sam, reads. Belinda lasers in on a handheld and emails, texts and watches a couple movies. Eric calls daily and Nell chats with him for long stretches. Sometimes work, sometimes games, sometimes gossip. Marty sends silly pictures of Kensi, himself, the two of them together, Monty, the ocean, the occasional crime scene. Every couple of hours G gets her out of the bed and they walk.

A week into Nell’s recovery G begins to fret about her silence. She’s affectionate, polite and pretty funny, but hasn’t said a single thing about the attack or the future. He knows it’s not because she’s not thinking or planning. What she’s not doing is talking. It’s late this evening when Belinda heads out for her hotel. The nurse dims the lights on her way out. G lowers the bed, so if Nell gets up, her feet will touch the floor. He scoots the guest chair over to where he can tuck his feet up under her arm. She watches him, rests her hand on his ankle. A small sigh slips out. He narrows his eyes. “Gonna tell me what’s going on in there?”

Their gazes lock. He waits. Her jaw tightens, relaxes, tightens again. She tugs on his pant leg. “Come here?” She scoots over in the bed and pats the mattress beside her.

He happily complies, easing into the bed, careful of the IV, the bandages. They settle and re-settle until they are both comfortable. G realizes he’s starving to hold her when the press of her body is real and immediate. He breathes her in with a long growl of contentment. “Still want to know what you’re thinking.” There’s admonishment in his voice.

She huffs, snuggles closer. “I’m thinking homicide.” Well, that explains silence. He drops a kiss in her hair, on her forehead, finds her lips, kisses her softly.

Her mouth opens under his lips and he tastes her for the first time in ten days, and it’s like coming home, something new. “Love you.” Aloud. Also something new.

~o~

Sam glares at Amy Rand. He’s a mountain of a guy, looking like he’s going to avalanche onto her at any moment. Eric is equally furious, though he doubts it shows. They stand at the top of the stairs, watching while Agent Rand fails to adequately explain to Hetty why there was absolutely no warning from the FBI that Nell was still in danger. To her credit, Rand isn’t making excuses. She seems pretty steamed about how her case load is being prioritized. Hetty, though a fraction of Sam, is actually looking a good bit scarier.

Eric’s impatience finally surfaces. “How are you surveilling the Holders?” He demands. “What exactly is the bureau doing on that?” Because he hasn’t seen a single trace of evidence that the FBI has even questioned any of them.

“I’m under direction not to approach or involve them.” Rand admits, her mouth a firm, frustrated line. “the official line is there is no evidence that any of the Holders are involved in the attacks on Miss Jones.”

It’s silent in OSP for the long moments it takes the team to absorb this. Eric thought as much, so he’s not a surprised as the rest of the team clearly is. Finally, Hetty simply turns and walks away. Five sets of eyes follow Hetty’s diminutive form as she goes to her office and the door softly closes. Four sets of those eyes swing immediately back to Rand.

Rand squares her shoulders, takes a breath and meets each pair of eyes in turn. She’s a tall woman, lean and leggy. She looks like she’d rather be in jeans than the suit, but she’s got the federal agent look down. Her brown hair is in a neat bundle at her crown, very little make up, small pearl earrings the only jewelry showing. She lets the breath back out. “Okay. I’ll go around the direction from my immediate. I’ll dig and let you know what happens.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.” Marty comments.

Rand shrugs. “They’ll pull me off and put someone else on. Holder is big money. Big influence. We can keep this on a back burner just by shuffling it around. And, I never said that, by the way.” She strides out the front door.

Eric turns to Sam. “What the hell am I gonna tell Callen when he calls?”

“I’ll call him.” Sam says.

“No need, Mr. Hanna.” Hetty is back, her jacket on, bag in hand. “I’m on my way to Vancouver now. Mr. Beal, this is still not our case. I don’t want any trace of interference evident. Do I make myself clear?”

Eric nods. Double down on the surveillance and make sure no one can see who’s doing it. He heads back to his work station. He hears Hetty continue.

“Mr. Hanna. You take lead. Anything SecNav assigns us is our first priority.”

Eric understands this, too. Work Nell’s case when you can, whenever you can. He boots up his system and signs in. Then he pulls his personal laptop out of its case under his desk and sets it up. Time to go fishing. He sends a message to Nell. Hetty on her way to you. Is your laptop at G’s? Can I use it?

~o~

G gives Nell a long narrow look as Hetty and Belinda leave the hospital room for a dinner and the hotel. Nell had not mentioned Hetty and Belinda are friends. The way Belinda lit up to see Hetty, the way the two women hugged, the concise and opaque way they spoke with one another might even suggest they are more than friends. If G has to guess, he’ll say former lovers or former operative together. He hopes he doesn’t have to guess.

G’s look is scathing. Nell shrugs, lifts her hands. When she’d read Eric’s text she hadn’t deduced Hetty would walk in this afternoon. She’d planned to tell G about Hetty and Belinda tonight, when Belinda was gone. “It hadn’t come up.” Weak.

If anything G’s expression gets harder, his eyes stormy.

A bubble of guilt percolates around in Nell’s chest. “I know.” She starts. But where to start? “It’s not really mine to tell.” She explains. “Even if I had said they know each other? There’s a lot about that I don’t know. What I do know I’m not at liberty to share.” She falls back on some jargon there, hears it, stops. Starts again. “Let me say this. Hetty knows everything about all of us. Including my mom. Including your mom. But, it’s never clear to me what we are allowed to know about each other, or tell about each other, or even tell each other. I know mom and Hetty have known each other since before me. I know they love each other dearly.” Her mind races ahead. G has the security clearance to know this, but does his clearance override need to know? She shakes her head to clear that worry out. “I also know mom’s a spy. So, the possibilities about their past are endless.”

G takes this in, his brows coming back down from irritated questions to calculating. “So, what does your dad do?”

Nell grins. Great contextualizing question and good way avoid having to respond to the information dump. “He has PhD’s in engineering and architecture. He writes books on the lived environment and its impact on wellbeing. And he’s married to a spy.”

G tilts his head. “So, between the three of you, you could take down a government.”

“Nah. We prefer this side of most laws, and we don’t have any muscle in the family. Yet.”

As she intended he chuckles. Ruefully, but with a smile. “Well, that’s a bunch of stuff falling into place.” He leans back in the chair, hands behind head, closes his eyes.

Nell watches him think for a bit. He’s so handsome. From here, she has a view of the bottom his jaw, square, scruffy. She likes him with about three days of beard, and unless the job requires otherwise, he keeps it there for her. He’s suddenly lean enough that cords show in his neck when he leans back this way. His chest is broad, torso long. When he’s all stretched out she wants to jump on him. Literally. Jump. She sighs.

He glances over, sees she’s okay. “What? Something else I ought to know?”

“I’m sure there is, but just then I was wishing I could jump on you. Thinking that’s probably a few weeks away, yet.”

“Glad you’re feeling better.” He flashes her a grin. “I’m not sure you’d’ve said that a couple days ago.”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t’ve even thought it.” She sits. “Come on. Take me for a walk. Let’s go outside. You can feel me up. Maybe you’ll quit looking at me like I just sold you back to the Russians.”

“Deal.” He stands. “So, we’ve got spies and millionaires wanting to kill each other in secret.” He sighs. If this was a mission, he’d be irritated. He can do millionaires and spies, actually was a spy, after all. But he much prefers being cop. Give him terrorists and bombs any day. He gives Nell a hand to hold while she slips on shoes.

“I guess I should tell you now my dad will be here in the morning and if you think that was weird, wait until you see all three of them together.” Nell keeps his hand. She’s moving more easily, since the end of the morphine drip a few days ago she feels less fuzzy, and the back pain is a combination of deep ache with surface ouch instead of immobilizing agony. The IV is gone since morning, and today is the first time she’s feeling well enough to notice all the minor indignities of hospital life. For instance, she’d really like to have pants on. Or something.

The next morning, G observes a family meeting unfold around him. Martin Shaw, who looks like a larger version of Gary Oldman, is a nice compliment to Belinda Shaw’s razor fury and Hetty’s icy determination. Martin has the brusque assurance of an academic, he’s affable, easy in his body and fit, delighted to meet G. He’s coincidentally dressed identically to G, or perhaps not so coincidentally. In indigo jeans and black t-shirt under a heather gray sweater (G’s is a bluer gray) it’s comically clear Belinda dressed them both. All of them in the same room, deep in tense conversation about the FBI, makes it much clearer how Nell and G picked each other. Thier eyes meet, acknowledging the eeriness of this. This recognition is entirely alien to him. His discomfort is such that he feels himself slipping into a legend he likes. His posture changes, Nell notices and flashes him a knowing grin. He drops his head, gets back to the present. Moves to stand closer to her.

Martin, Belinda and Hetty are obviously a trio of some sort, and G finds he doesn’t want to know details. They begin making plans to relocate to London with very little reference to either Nell or G. He’s about to say or do something, not sure what, when he feels Nell’s hand on his wrist. He subsides and listens to deepening speculation about how to move the case from the FBI to… where to move it.

Nell lies back against the pillows. The head of the bed is raised and she had the foresight to have G help her get dressed this morning. Despite having her mother’s cast offs, pajama pants and a t-shirt, least she’s not the only person in the room nearly naked. She can’t think of three more capable people to care for her. Or three she loves more. Even when they are on overdrive like this, her parents feel like love - and yes, she has to admit she considers Hetty family. She would’ve jumped into the fray several minutes ago if she could get over how G fits in her family. He’s a combination of dad’s demeanor and smarts, mom’s fierceness and control, Hetty’s toughness. Crazy. Almost creepy.

“Um.” Nell’s murmur brings conversation to a halt. “I don’t think we can expect any official help unless we get evidence.”

Belinda’s eyes narrow and Martin takes her hand. Hetty nods. “As I’ve been trying to convince you Bel.”

Nell gives Hetty a grateful look. “And we’re not going to get evidence sitting around waiting for something else to happen.”

“I do not want the evidence to be your body.” Belinda snaps.

“No one wants that, mom. Me least of all.” Nell tries to put reassurance in her voice. “I just think we’ll have to go get the evidence.”

“Who exactly is we?” Martin asks.

Nell looks back to Hetty. She lifts her shoulders. “We’re not much good to you while someone is hunting me. It makes the most sense for us to do it.”

“Do what?” There’s an edge to Martin’s voice.

Belinda huffs her disgust. “They’re thinking about going towards this undercover. Am I wrong?” She shoots Nell a fiery look. “I won’t have it.”

Hetty touches Belinda’s arm. “Bel. You’re going to have to listen.”

“I do not have to listen. I won’t have my only child anywhere near this. I knew when you hired her, this would happen. Somehow you would have her in harms way. I don’t care, Etta. I won’t.” Belinda’s voice gets lower and meaner as she talks. Fear shines from her dark eyes like flame, and G is very glad she wasn’t there when Nell was bleeding onto saltillo tiles in LA two weeks ago. Martin lets go Belinda’s hand and steps between his wife and Nell. Hetty puts her head near Belinda’s ear, speaking so low G can’t hear her.

Martin comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He includes G in his gaze. “We’re not going to do anything right now, kiddo. We’re certainly not going to convince your mom of anything with you in a hospital bed. We need to get you well, and we need to keep thinking about all this. Come home?”

Nell leans to send Belinda a pointed glance, then looks sharply at her dad. Her expression says “come home to that? I don’t think so.”  She presses her lips together. G learns a good deal more about Nell silence in the following long moments. Nell silence is power in this family. The room gradually grows utterly quiet. Only then does Nell speak again. “It’d be safer if we disappear for awhile. I’ll do it.” She focuses on Hetty. “I’ll do it. We’ll stay in touch with you. They don’t know about you. It’s safest.” She stresses. “We will take leave. When we have something we’ll turn it over. We won’t get all cowboy on anyone.”

“I will hear from you through Henrietta?” From Belinda’s tone it’s unclear it this is good or bad.

Nell relents and meets her mother’s eyes. “Mom, if there is even a speck of trouble, you know I will call you directly.” This has always been true, and always will be. “But from an operational standpoint, you simply have to be rational. We know this is Holders. Holders know you. At least they know public you. When they can’t find me again, they’ll watch you.” She doesn’t say carefully watching her parents is the most likely way Nell’s original cover was blown. Everyone in the room knows it. Whoever the Holders have hired to get to Nell is at least that smart and at least that talented. The dentist’s appointment was the giveaway.

Like Hetty, like Nell, when Belinda makes up her mind, it is made. She visibly accepts this, acclimates to it and relaxes. She’s good. Martin leans to kiss Nell’s forehead. His face is somber. “We love you, monkey. We’re right here.”

“I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

Belinda stands, comes to drop a kiss on Nell’s head. She turns to Hetty, “Lunch at the Blue Water Cafe, dearests? We’ll come back with dinner later.” Voice bright, smile back. Martin rises, shaking his head, looking amused.

The energy drop when they leave the room is almost enough to cause a vacuum. Nell slumps lower in the bed, eyes closing. G stretches out next to her. “Damn.”

“Like I said.” She mumbles.

~o~

“Monkey?” G unfolds the hospital suite’s pullout double bed. Nell has the doctor’s release and they leave tomorrow. The suite’s second room is a small living space, with a mini fridge, a microwave, a TV and no monitors of any kind. Nell closes the door to the patient room with satisfaction. She’s told the nurses they’ll be in here, so no one should panic if the room seems empty.

She rest her hands on her hips and takes in his wry smile. “You haven’t seen me climb.”

“I’ve heard.” He says. “I’m a beneficiary.” He meets her in the middle of the tiny room, supplanting her hands with his on her hips. “Monkey.” He says it again, as if he’s tasting the word on his his tongue. “I’m jealous. I never lived with anyone long enough to get a nickname.”

Her expression softens. He never lived anywhere long enough to keep his given name, let alone acquire any extras. “Hmmmm.” She reaches up and strokes his beard, trails fingers lightly over his lips. “I’ll work on that.” She offers. “I can call you sweety.” He lifts a brow. “Honey.” The other brow goes up. “Baby.” He rolls his eyes. “M’amour.” Low and soft. Blue eyes snap to hers, flashing with pleasure for an instant. She grins. My love, in French. “Not that anyone else can call you that. I hope.”

“Don’t think I can call you monkey either.” He feigns ruminating. “Myshka moya.” His expression turns contemplative and distant. Nell’s fascinated by his retreat, although he hasn’t moved a muscle. Something in his posture cautions her to wait. He frowns slightly, and unwilling to lose him to something bad she touches his chin, brings his attention back to her. His focus returns slowly. “I think of you as myshka moya sometimes, and… there’s an echo there of being very small and lullabies. I don’t remember being a kid very often. Before…”

“Before your mom was killed?” She whispers. His file says he was on the beach when Clara Callen was shot down. It also says he doesn’t have any recollection prior to that day. Which is clearly untrue. Perhaps none he’s wanted to share with bureau shrinks. But, something is there. Unraveling it probably hurts.. She slips her hand up to his neck and draws his face to hers for a kiss. “Love you.” She whispers against his mouth.

Nell takes G’s hand and leads him to the bed. “We have work to do.” She scoots into bed and sits with her back against the pillows. He stretches out beside her. “Where are we going in the morning?”

They discard the cushion of distance knowing that ultimately one of them may need to get close to a Holder. For that, they’ll need proximity. Proximity will also be good if and when they need help.

“Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, whoever works for Holder has made us both and given photos to Holder.” G says slowly, thinking aloud. “That means changing appearance. At least. And far enough nobody’s looking right at us.”

“Isolated enough a lurker would stick out.” She adds.

“Isolated could mean low technology.”

“We could deal with that. I think I’d prefer to take the tech with us than using something public or sketchy. Public and sketchy has great anonymity, but Eric and I can create some anonymity with high assurance security. I talked to him earlier.”

G rolls onto his stomach to look up at her. “We can look at the San Juans. Then Seattle is right there if we need it.”

“Houseboat.” She suggests, garnering a glance of speculative appreciation from him.

“Nice.”

“Having no computer is killing me.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is.”

G picks up Nell’s hand, weaves his fingers between hers. “Hotel in the morning. We need stuff.” She’s laughing at him. “Hey, I can do stuff sometimes. I’ll make a reservation. A week? Get your technology going. Start building a couple decent legends.”

“I just want some clothes that aren’t my mother’s.” She mutters.

“Fair enough.” He chuckles. He reaches the end table and grabs an envelope. “From Hetty.”

Nell spills two passports, driver’s licenses and four credit cards onto the blankets. She opens the one nearest her and it’s G’s, a legend she built for him a couple years ago. The second one is Canadian and bears her college id picture from five years ago. Apparently George Campbell has a new wife. Noemi Marchand Campbell. “Who built this?” She flips through it and sees Noemi has been just about everywhere she has.

“Not sure, probably Eric.” G taps at his phone. “Hey where do we live?” He plucks a drivers license from her fingers. “It’s probably backstopped well enough for department stores and a couple of hotel reservations and a vacation rental.” Feeling fingertips on his scalp, he looks up. She’s scooted down, lying on her side, he’s looking at breasts. He chuckles. He cranes to meet her eyes. “Mmmm.” He leans and opens his mouth over her nipple, leaving a wet circle on the fabric. She presses against him, fingers slipping over his belly. “You need to rest. I’m pretty sex this isn’t on the recuperation plan, yet.”

“You won’t break me.”

“I don’t have any plans to hurt you either.” He kisses her chin. “I’d need to see you do 50 sit ups without cringing.”

Lying on the floor sounds grueling, but she wonders if she could do them on the bed. She rolls to her back and crunches up once. She can feel the stitches.

“Uh huh. That was a cringe.” He points out.

“But, if I’m not on my back.” She rolls away and curls, presenting her backside while peeling away the pajama pants.

“I’m not going to fuck you while looking at that bandage.” He does run a fond hand around the curve of her bottom.

“Close your eyes.”

His hand wanders under her bottom to where her thighs meet, fingers pressing up and finding slick curls. He huffs, slides a finger into her and she moans encouragement, clenching tight when a second finger joins the first. The cascade of dopamine is better than meds, her body lighting up her brain with his touch. She purrs.

There’s nothing about bruised and bandaged that’s a turn on for G. Curvy butt in his hand as well as wet lusciousness at his fingertips is lovely, but fading yellow bruising and mucky gauze won’t be overcome. Still, there are many ways to get her off without him being aroused. Anesthetizing sex, he thinks as he slips a third finger in and pushes deep. There. He strokes sopping swollen flesh, pressing into the spot he knows drives her a little crazy. He lifts her upper leg, and rests his cheek on the inside of her thigh, blocking the sight of injuries for him and giving his mouth access for her. “Relax.” He caresses with his lips. “Shhhhh. Easy. Just easy.” He licks, teases with his teeth, fingers buried, working, turning. “Slow and easy.” He whispers, pacing his touch to keep her hyper aroused. When she tenses, he slows, eases her back. “Hush. Just enjoy it.” She tastes heavenly, wet and slippery, clenching and clutching.

Pleasure zips along Nell’s skin and nervous system, careening, bouncing. She’s found the holding spot, strung out, almost overstimulated, wanting to come. Everything but his hands and mouth in and on her fades, her body zeroes to center. Then she’s past it, her breath stutters, he insists with his hands, sucks, sends her over in a flurry of small spasms that build, crest and wash out across her leaving a fine dew of sweat on her skin. He keeps a firm pressure while she unwinds.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I needed that, needed to get back onto my body. Feel like myself instead of a voodoo doll.”

He gets what she means about the out of body experience of being injured. He’s glad to help and still intrigued by how physical she is. Brainy she may be, but she accesses it through her body. He scoops her carefully into his arms and kisses her. “I kinda like the idea of you and your body together again. Reunited and it feels so good.” He sings the last few words.

She laughs. “Silly boy.” She nuzzles his neck.

He tucks sheets and blankets around her shoulders up to her chin. “Go to sleep. I’m going to shower. I’ll be right back.”

She grips the shoulder of his shirt, holding him fast. He looks his question. She shakes her head. “I don’t… I mean, I can take a shower with you.” Her eyes are huge.

"Or, we can both go to sleep."

"Mmmmm." She agrees, nestling to him. “Better.”

~o~

Sam Hanna likes a mystery or adventure as much if not more than the next man. But, in his old age - he is coming up on 50 after all - he finds himself liking the familiar more and more. A mystery that robs him of his best friend and partner is just annoying. He sits at his desk, chipping away at paperwork from yesterday’s case, fuming about news G and Nell aren’t coming back anytime soon. He could take a leave and join them, but that wouldn’t be fair to Mitch or Hetty. There’s plenty to do around here. If G needs him he’ll call.

“Sam?” Eric’s tentative inquiry brings his attention around. Eric hovers at the corner of his desk looking scared. So not a case.

“What, Eric? What?” Sam’s general irritation lasers in on the younger man.

Eric blinks, gathers himself. Looks for a moment as if he’s planning a retreat, then plunges in. “I know Callen and Nell aren’t asking, but I know I’d feel better if I was helping them. I’m getting them on skype tonight. Maybe we could talk to them and offer… tell them we’ll help with whatever.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a week.” Sam’s face brightens. “I’m in.” The rest of the work day unfolds with considerably less glowering. He hadn’t realized Marty was so pissed he’d stopped teasing Kensi until they started it up again in the later afternoon. Eric has them coming, too. Sam puts a call into Mitch, let her know what’s planned for this evening. She hangs up to call a sitter, she’s not staying out on this.

Sam would’ve bet that Eric lived alone in a rundown place on the beach. When he and Mitch pull up in front of the condo tower, he assumes they are at someone else’s pad for the party. The fifteenth floor unit is spacious and has a slice of an ocean view. The furnishings are gleaming modern. The woman who opens the door starts with “You must be Sam and Michelle, I’m Eric’s wife Robin.” Then she laughs at the expression on Sam’s face. “I get that all the time.” She waves them in. She is willowy and trim, with a cap of dark curls and sparkly blue eyes. “We’re in here.” She leads them down a short hallway to a bedroom that’s been converted into a tech ops space fit for Eric. Sam shoots Eric an appraising glance.

Marty nudges Sam’s shoulder. “You didn’t know about the wife either, did you? Spooks. Keeping secrets for no reason at all.” Although Sam wants to give Eric a hard time, only Hetty and G knew Sam was married or had kids for years. The further away you keep your loved ones, the safer they are if something goes terribly wrong.

Before Sam can remark on any of this, though, the plasma over Eric’s desk lights up, shows bright blue, then G and Nell are peering at them. Nell smiles. “Hey. Everyone. Wow, Eric.”

A chorus of hello’s go around the room. G and Nell both look considerably worse for wear. Sam assess the fatigue in their faces. Nell’s shades towards tired. G’s shades towards worried. Sam pulls up a chair and squeezes up between Mitch and Marty. He listens to Nell quiz Eric down about their legends. Behind her, G makes eye contact. Sam gazes back. G is ok, unhappy but fine. He’s clearly prefer to go take care of some part of this himself. Sam shakes his head. That’s not happening. If any asskicking is going down G better call him and they will handle it together.

Nell catches on that G and Sam are having a silent conversation, stops talking, looks over her shoulder at G. “What are you guys talking about?” She demands.

Mitch barks out a laugh. “Killing someone. G is threatening to go rogue.”

“None of that.” Nell snaps.

Marty joins Michelle’s laugh and the groups breaks up giggling. The only ones not laughing are G and Sam. They’re both smiling, but a shared glance acknowledges they’re not done with that conversation. For the moment though, they let it go and join in the discussion of next steps. Nell has done additional backstopping on the legends. Eric has located additional intel on all the Holder kids. Sam suggests looking at the Holder parents as well and the group likes that idea. Michelle approves the houseboat idea for the next month or so until Nell is back at 100%, she gets out her phone and calls up information on a couple of private marinas that look promising. Sam and Marty consult on getting the couple armed once they’re back in the states and agree to work on that from LA, where they have considerably more access to illicit weapons. After some debate about creating new legends from scrap or using the ones they’ve got, the group agrees that G and Nell should build new legends without ties to NCIS.

Conversation devolves to trading updates on the Hanna kids, checking on G’s house. Nell expresses a desire for some of her things and Kensi agrees to go to the house and pack her a bag. Marty suggests he and Kensi hop up for the weekend and bring the bag, as well as anything Eric has for them. Excitement about that idea percolates and gels into a plan.  

The conversation winds down, goodbyes are said and the screen goes blank. Eric shuts down his systems. “Thanks, guys. I feel a lot better about all this.”

Sam claps a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Me, too. Thank you, Eric. Brilliant.”

 

~o~

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Hetty asks.

Owen Granger stands in the breakroom, coffee cup in hand. “You’re two down, thought you might be able to use an assist.”

Hetty seems to consider this. She moves to the counter and lifts the tea kettle. “I don’t recall requesting additional personnel.” She fills the kettle and puts it on the stove.

“Word in the community is that Belinda Shaw has a standing kill order on anyone who can and doesn’t help her kid.” Granger perches on the counter's edge. “Leon made it sound like I better get my ass over here and pitch in.”

Hetty shakes her head. “Owen, I’m not sure there is anything official any of us can do. Any other help is welcome.”

Granger sips coffee. “Do I want to know why someone is trying to kill Nell Jones?”

“Nell is Carin Winslow, the youngster who killed Renee and Coraline Holder’s son.”

Granger nearly chokes. “Didn’t see that coming.” He ponders a long moment. He’s very rarely surprised. “Well, that’s a problem.”

“Indeed.” Hetty busies her hands with a teacup, saucer, spoon, milk. “It wasn’t until someone found out who she is and where she was. If you have any connections that might tell me how that happened it would be very valuable information to have.”

Granger nods to the door. “Let me get after that.” He unfolds his lanky frame and ambles away. With no more conversation he settles in at Callen’s desk and boots up the computer.

From the kitchen doorway Hetty watches her team bristle, shift. They’re a territorial bunch. She smiles and returns to her hot water.

Glimpsing Hetty’s enigmatic smile, Sam subsides from demanding to know what the hell Granger’s doing here. Kensi takes Sam’s lead and turns her attention back to her screen. Marty fidgets next to her and she extends a foot, tapping his sneaker lightly with a booted toe. She IM’s to him - _Wait._

_\- don’t wanna_

_\- wait anyway, Hetty’s ok with it_

_\- so? i want to know_ Marty is up, bouncing over to Sam’s desk, dropping a couple sheets of paper in Sam’s in box. Kensi presses her lips together with amusement. Her lover is not a subtle man.

Up at his workstation Eric sees the IMs between Kensi and Marty go past. They don’t have a case at the moment. Wondering what Hetty’s okay with, he heads to the top of the stairs. Seeing Granger at Callen’s desk, tapping away for all the world as if he was home alone, is all the intel Eric needs. He circles right back around to his own work. A minute later another IM goes from Marty to Kensi - he’s in one of the CIA databases looking at something about Holder Senior!!! Eric shakes his head. Marty is always first done with paperwork, often first to solve some information puzzle. What seems like a goofy lack of focus is actually well disguised spooky genius. Still shaking his head, Eric brings up the screen Granger is working, glances it over, messages the other three -   _he’s looking at a CIA file on Renee Holder from the time of his son’s death. Get back to work. We’ll look at it tonight._ He hears Sam chuckle.

~o~

The week in Vancouver is devoted to acquisition. From an executive suite on the top floor of the Blue Horizon Hotel, Nell and G venture out  to get a laptop powerful enough for their needs, two sets of go phones, clothing, luggage. G approves one trip per day, which on top of a daily workout is about all Nell is able. At G’s request, Sam and Eric each add a dedicated go phone for regular communications. Nell and Eric add another layer of backstopping to their Campbell legends.

G is already three weeks out from a haircut and a thick dark cap of  hair covers his scalp. Hair makes him look younger, or less serious, Nell’s not sure which. Combined with the beard he also looks distinctly Eastern European and significantly less non-descript. She can see why he keeps everything shaved to neutral. His hair also grows straight up out of his head with a wicked cowlick in front that contributes to the boyish effect. Nell loans him hair gel, which he hates almost as much as he hates the cowlick. It occurs to her they can do Russian legends if she can get her hands on Russian passports for them. She puts a call into a friend who is a retired CIA operative with good connections looking for two blanks.

It seems he’s serious about the no sex until she can do 50 sit-ups without pain. She’s healing up nicely, although not as fast as she wants. On a trip out for shoes, she picks up a chess set. She coaxes him to read to her before they go to sleep. Whatever he’s reading is fine by her, she just wants to hear his voice, feel the rumble under her ear. It’s fond and cozy. By the week’s end, they are starting on new legends, and Nell is trying to decide between blonde or curly or both. Her hair recently hit her shoulders, her bangs growing out. She hates to cut it again, so color seems to be the route to take. Or a wig. G teases her mercilessly about her glasses. When she’s not all dolled up, or even going to work, she sports chunky hornrims and fedoras, a look he finds amusingly deceptive. Sure, she looks smart, but the droll appearance is the polar opposite of her strength and speed.

They also trade clothing styles, with Nell in t-shirts and jeans, boots and a hoody far from her Sandra Dee look back home. G spiffs it up a notch by substituting dress shirts for his t-shirts, with a tweed sportcoat. Thursday evening Nell returns from the stylist with hair the color of sunshine and wheat.

G takes her in with a grin. “Whoa.”

“Is that good or bad?” Nell isn’t sure she likes it at all, it’s so surprising when she glimpses it, she doesn’t know what to think.

“Good.” He meets her in the middle of the room and peers at her in mock study. Then his expression clears. “Yep, you’re still in there.” He kisses her. “Good. But, really, really different.”

“Let’s do new ID pictures so we can get them off to Brian.”

“Dang, girl, nice.” Marty slaps Nell a high five on the way into the hotel room. The 30th floor suite commands a view of Vancouver Harbour over the lights of the city center. Kensi comes in on his heels and throws herself on the couch with a sigh, while Marty joins G on the balcony.

“Gifts from Eric.” Kensi swings a briefcase up onto the coffee table. “This is all the photoless paper you’ll need. Birth certificates, social security cards, fingerprint cards. He’s got it all uploaded, but you might as well have the paper with you.”

Over dinner Kensi completes her data dump of intel from Eric and Sam. Michelle has also contributed to the sleuthing. Between the three of them, they’ve got huge files on each Holder sibling, plus dad. From basic information to arcane details of daily habits, everything they could find is on an sd card Nell tucks into her pocket. Conversation then turns to routine NCIS business, recounting a couple of cases, stories about Hetty’s various eccentricities.

Familiar faces feels good, and Nell admits to being a touch homesick. Marty is frankly curious about Nell and G’s relationship and pretty direct in questioning them. When did this happen? How? How’s it going? Does Hetty know? That line of conversation leads into the discussion of Nell’s family. Marty snorts with pleased laughter at the thought of Hetty with friends. He claims he always knew there was something special between Hetty and Nell.

The following morning, Nell wakes to the sound of low voices in the living room. G is rarely still in bed when she gets up, but he’s generally quiet. The smell of coffee is another nudge. She doesn’t drink it, but loves the smell. Loves it even more on G’s breath. She gets up, wraps up in a robe and pads into the adjoining room. G and Marty are at the tiny work table, face to face, working on laptops. “Hey.”

“Hey.” G replies, Marty just murmurs, intent on the screen.

“What’re you doing?” Nell kisses the back of G’s neck, then peers over his shoulder.

“Analysis of the intel on papa Holder. I have a feeling.” Marty answers. He rolls his chair over slightly indicating one of the guest chairs with a wave. “C’mere.” G is typing, and Nell pulls up the chair and sits next to Marty, shifting the laptop around to see the screen. Marty moves the cursor. “Here. And, here. These are small transactions by the sister, Magdalene, but look, there. Papa Holder has finger prints and approvals all over it. And here. Vacation plans for brother Rob, again Papa Holder is in the loop. I don’t think these kids do anything much without the paternal blessings.”

“Holder and his ex divorced about a year after Derek’s death.” G takes up the thread. “She’s remarried, but a big part of the company is hers, she’s still on the board. She’s the one giving funds to James. At least directly. Not enough to hire the kind of muscle we’re dealing with. though.”

All three phones chime with a message from Eric. He’s identified the guy who stabbed Nell. Nell hops up. “Let me get showered and dressed and I’ll hack into his financials. Let’s see how much he got paid.”


	4. “We’re gonna have to do this together.”

Hand over eyes, Nell squints across the bay to the marina. Sunlight twinkles off water, a dry breeze makes the already chilly day cold. A couple of sailboats are already scooting between the islands. By noon, the bay will be full of furled sails. There's no traffic on the long road hugging the pine forest. She aims her bike down the tree covered narrow lane and rides into deep green relative darkness. Five minutes later she circles onto the beach, grabs the bag from the basket and dumps the bike beside G's in the sand. Another minute and she spies him sitting on a blanket up in the tree line. He’s watching her with a grin and she waves.

She hands G the bag containing breakfast and throws herself on the blanket. “What time did you get up?” She sprawls alongside him.

He shrugs, opens the bag, rummages around. “Maybe 5.30.” He finds fat ham and cheese croissants, bottles of iced-tea, a handful of napkins. He grunts approval, hands her a croissant. Takes a huge bite from the other. He’s been up for four hours. Starving.

Nell glances around, it’s a beautiful spot. G comes here most mornings to write. Living on the water has tapped some deep memory reservoir, stirred up dreams from childhood, and he’s been writing a journal to keep everything from overwhelming his days. She picks up the book, plain, vinyl bound, thick, and flips through pages filled to the margins with his precise neat script. He prefers she read it than to sort through it all twice to tell her. Reading his prose feels like climbing into him sometimes. So stoic in his actual presence, his writing brims with emotion, detail, eloquence, it can be very near poetry. Sam told her once G is a very emotional guy, now having slept with him she believes it. In G's journal she sees exactly what Sam means. They might both be men of few spoken words, but for all that, there’s much to be said.

She chews and reads his narrative of life in a small house near the Black Sea. The narrative lapses into Russian or Romanian occasionally, perhaps because that's how he recalls the thread or story. His mother is the prominent figure in his recollections and Nell no longer believes he had any extended time with no memory of the vibrant young woman he clearly knew well when he was a baby. She does beieve he never told anyone anything. His parents lived with many secrets in cold war Romania, he learned from infancy how to be silent. This morning's entry is about his grandmother baking bread every afternoon, fishing with his grandfather.

He’s stretched out on the blanket, looking inviting, smiling at her. She flashes on a sense memory of making love the first time after the stabbing. They’d been on Lopez Island four days, three weeks out of the hospital. She’d just gotten out of the shower in the houseboat where the bathroom is eentsy and he had a towel. Then his hands were on her ribs, his touch utterly suggestive. She was pressed against him in a steamy space so small they couldn’t turn, his mouth hot on hers. A scramble for purchase on slick surfaces. Wanting so strong she couldn't think of anything but him inside her.

G grabs her jacket and yanks her onto his chest. “Come’ere you.” He frames her face with both hands. She’s laughing now, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. “Where was your brain?” He kisses her thoroughly. He rolls, pulling the blanket up around them. She’s more than willing to make love outside, but it’s still awfully cold out. He forgoes tangling with her jacket and sweater, taking hold of the top button on her jeans. She wriggles to provide better access. His fingers find bared skin. She enjoys the taste of tea on his tongue. Fingers tug in his hair. Hands shove denim away. Legs lift around his waist, knees gripping ribs. Deep thrust. Guttural moan. He rocks ever so slowly, stringing out the blissful zing of pleasure. She can’t stop laughing, she can’t help it, and with that everything in her belly contracts with delight and satisfaction. Pleasure with every stroke, then he’s gone, too.

Their lovemaking subsides to cuddling, teasing. Light kisses, fingers on faces. His thumb grazes her lips. Fondness in his eyes, chuckle way down in his belly vibrating against her. When she’s caught her breath, she scavanges napkins to mop up at least some of the warm stickiness between them. Looking at her meds list in the hospital, G saw the birth control and after the briefest discussion about test results condoms were history. She stuffs used napkins in the bag, nudges G aside, when he grabs her ass and her phone rings.

Getting the phone from her pocket requires a bit of maneuvering. But, it seldom rings when they are together unless something is up, so she digs for it and sees the caller id is her father as the call goes to voicemail.

“What?” Seeing her face, G stills beside her. “Who was it?”

Nell’s already returning the call. “Hey, Dad…” She listens intently as her father begins explaining something about a job, Holder. “Wait, slow down. G is here, let me put you on speaker. No. Okay, but slow down.” She listens, starting to understand her father has secured a consulting job with Renee Holder and she shudders with apprehension. “I’m not sure…” Her father goes on with details that make it clearer he’s done this under cover of the auspices of a NYC firm. Holder doesn’t know it’s Martin. “But, he knows you, what if he sees you?” She holds a hand up to G’s impatient expression. “No, I …” The hand goes to her face, covering her eyes. The icy hints of dread slip along her spine. Her father asks if G can go to work for Renee Holder as the supervising architect on the consulting project. Which he can in theory, but Nell’s mind is racing. “Yeah… yes.” She agrees to call back tonight when everyone is in the relative security of private digs. She ends the call and her eyes meet G’s. She shakes her head. “I need pants on for this.” She mutters.

G cocks his head, holds her wrist. “What?”

“Um. Seems Dad's bid a design consulting job with Papa Holder through the front of a design firm he works for occasionally. They are thinking you can go in under that cover, get close to Holder, snoop around a bit. Maybe turn up something we can use to stop them, or end this somehow.”

G nods, taking this in. “Interesting.”

“Insane.”

“No. It’s actually pretty good.”

Nell rolls her eyes. Of course it’’s good, it’s her parents and they’re good. Doesn’t make it safe. Her mind reels a little. She’s unsure if she’s reacting to her parents, or to the job. The team has talked about a variety of strategies to get better intel, and undercover has certainly come up repeatedly. G may be able to think clearly without pants on, but she can’t. She scrambles under the blanket and locates hers, pulling them on, buttoning, smoothing. She’d kicked off her sneakers and slips them back on with a businesslike tug at the laces. She squares her thoughts; whatever they do isn’t going to be safe. Nothing safe about any of this. She needs to put safe aside. “I need to think. I need to talk to Eric. You need to talk to Sam.”

G comes to his feet, hitching up and fastening his jeans. He extends a hand, pulling her to her feet. He picks up the blanket, gives it a good shake and rolls it into a neat bundle. “Let’s get a meeting set for this afternoon, if we can pull them away. Dinner time, if not.”

They walk back to the beach, where G straps the blanket roll to his bike.  Pedaling toward the marina, Nell runs scenarios. By the time they reach the houseboat, the project seems manageable if they can get their hands on enough gear. They are both used to working with the resources of the Navy and sometimes Homeland at their fingertips. To do this on their own. She sighs. They lock the bikes to the porchrail. She turns her face up to his. He looks interested, keenly attentive. She follows him into the house.

The houseboat is ridiculously snug, with everything tucked, secured, and carefully measured to fit. The 550 or so square feet of living space is in a cabin with rounded corners and an arched roofline, making it feel like a softer bigger place than it is. The living dining area leads directly to the kitchen, across from the bath and on into the bedroom. Nell goes straight through and stows her jacket, puts her shoes under the bed. On her way back to the dining table, where they’ve set up their workspace, she pours a glass of water. G is already at the table staring at his laptop. She perches next to him and opens hers.

“Have you tried to find your birth family?”

Nell hesitates, wanting to be careful with her answer. Because, she hasn’t. She won’t. In the face of his ongoing search, she’s not sure how to explain.  

G reads the answer on her face and smiles. “I didn’t think so.”

“I have a family. I have too much family.” She laughs her discomfort with the conversation. She sobers, touches the back of his hand. “Whoever had me gave me away, G. Not like you. They weren’t taken. I was passed around to a variety of relatives before I landed in foster care when my great aunt died. I remember  all of them. I could probably find them. None of them wanted me. Don’t want me now. I’m just a subplot in a long sad story about drugs and prison. What’s there to look for?”

G’s expression clouds. Her story is pretty much the opposite of his. He was wanted, cherished and lost. She was unwanted, given away and found. Neither seems entirely better than the other. It hasn’t occurred to him, until her, to be especially grateful for the beginning of his life the way she is for her current circumstances. In fact, until just a moment ago, hearing the hardness in her voice, he has assumed it better to be the longer loved. He leans back in the chair. “It’s not the water.”

She looks up, question on her face.

“The dreams and memories coming back.” He says. “It’s not the water. It’s you. You remind me I was loved. You remind me all the time.”

She blinks.

“I just want you to know. To know how important you are to me. I’m not going to stand by and let anyone or anything threaten you. It’s personal for me, too.” His tone is matter of fact, for all the gravity of the words.

She holds his gaze. He is a weapon and he’s about to turn loose.

~o~

Nell looks over G’s shoulder, watches while he gists all the information the team has gathered on the hitman who attacked her. They’ve got a surplus of intel, the guy has been a merc for twelve years, mainly doing wet work for various organized crime syndicates. What they don’t have is any trace of how or why he’s connected with Holders. It's the first decent intel they can give to the FBI to attempt a push for a deeper investigation.

G sorts the information by location, looking at where the guy has been and how he travels. “Think he’s a pilot?”

“Mmmmm.” Nell reaches and covers his hand, fingers gently moving the mouse, clicking. “I think he’s ex-special forces.”

“Holder has history in the Air Force.” G reminds her. “There’s our connection.” He leans back stroking her hand.

“So you’re thinking this is all being driven by Holder the father.” She weaves her fingers between his. “And you’re wanting to take the undercover op.”

“Hell yes.” He mutters.

“G, what’re you gonna do? Kill him?”

He cuts a look up at her.

“G.”

“What?”

“There has to be another approach to this.” She scoots off the back of his chair. She levels a long gaze at him.

“You get that he hired an ex-special forces friend of his to kill you.” G swivels to look straight at her. “I’ve no idea what triggered all this, but I’m betting something happened to his kid in prison. No matter. He’s decided to go all out. That means the only move is take him out.” She frowns. He reaches to smooth her brow with a finger. “S’not something you can do. I’ve got this.”

“If I can’t then you can’t either. He’s not a criminal.”

“Yeah, he is.” G grips Nell’s arms. “Hiring a contract killer is a crime. Attempted murder is a crime.”

“I just…” She’s not sure. “I understand… if it’s self-defense, or in the line…”

“Then you understand this. You may not like it.”

“If we give all this to Rand, she can arrest him.”

“So what. He’s no less dangerous in prison. Probably more.” His eyes are intense, his gaze tight on her. “Rand can’t do anything with this, most of it’s inadmissible. She can’t even get a warrant on Holder. Maybe she can stick to McLemore, but that's not good enough. Not nearly good enough."

After a long moment, she nods. “I know.” Her voice is a whisper.

~o~

“She’s right you know.” Sam offers his judicious opinion. G glares back at him via the computer screen. Sam folds his arms over his chest. “Neither one of you should be anywhere near this.”

“Damn it, I know.”

“Do you, G?” It hasn’t been Sam’s experience that G knowing better is enough to deter him when he’s angry. “Point in fact, you should both be visibly as far from this as possible. Michelle is working with Eric. You and her parents need to chill.”

G doesn’t answer. “We’ll be there later tonight.”

“I’ll pick you up. You can stay with us.”

“No need. We can get a cab to my place.”

“No way. Somebody needs to keep an eye on you two. As far as Eric can tell, McLemore doesn’t have you or your place. He’s just lying in wait for Nell, trying to get a line on where she’s gone. But lets not tempt the fates. I’d prefer it if you stay put until we get this. But if you’re coming, you’re coming here.”

G sighs. He’d prefer to be on the way to NYC, with any kind of an in to execute this guy. He’s done with hiding, done with sleuthing, done.

“G.”

“What?”

“Don’t do it.”

“Fuck it.” G is tempted to end the call. “I’ll get this. Two days.”

Sam watches him carefully, resigns. Nods. G lifts a brow, Sam nods again.

“I want someone to watch Nell.”

Sam takes a long slow breath. “Ok. Two days.” G ends the call and Sam looks at the empty screen. “Shit.” He slides his phone out, undecided who to call. He compromises by texting Nell, This’ll be fine. And then calling Michelle.

~o~

“No.” Nell slaps a hand on the table between them and glares at G.

G’s mouth is a thin line. “You don’t get to say no.”

“The hell I don’t.” She stands and goes to the bedroom. His journal entry this morning was a detailed description of his first assassination. She admires his tactical skill and is chilled by the deliberate account at the same time. She doesn’t want him doing that for her. She drags her duffle from the bottom of the closet and tosses clothing in.

G stops in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

She yanks her hair up into a messy blonde ponytail and puts her glasses on. She slips into her jacket.

“Nell.”

“I’m going.” She snaps.

“Going?”

“I’m going to New York to kill this son of a bitch and get this over with.” Her voice is a low growl. She hoists the pack over her shoulder and puts hands on his chest, pushing. “You say that’s the only thing to do. Fine, I’ll do it.”

G doesn’t give ground. She glares up at him, fury in her eyes. He does step back once. “Whoa. What?”

“My problem. My job.” She shoves harder.

“No.”

“Oh. I don’t get to say no. Only you get to say no?” Her voice is a sharp balance of sarcasm and anger. “Get out of my way.”

“Wait.” He wonders if she’d hurt him to get around him. She’s certainly mad enough, and this hadn’t occurred to him as a remote possibility.  He’s tempted to pick her up, but if her eyes or her voice are anything to go by, it would be an extremely bad move. He backs up several more steps without getting out of her way. “Hold on.”

She stomps her foot. Under any other circumstance he’d laugh. He drops his head for a second to contain the laugh and she rams the top of her head into his breastbone, sending him backwards, into the dining table, over it and onto the floor between the table and the couch.

By the time he finds his feet she’s past him and out the door. She hops onto her bike and pedals up the dock to the road. She’s fast on the bike. He can undoubtedly catch her before she makes the ferry, but he’s not sure he’s willing to do what he’d need to stop her cold. His chest hurts, he’s gonna have a hell of a bruise. He locks the door, climbs on his bike and follows.

It’s an easy three mile ride to the ferry, and G is in sight behind Nell most of the journey. She can take the ferry to Seattle, get a cab SeaTac, get a flight to NYC. Find a place. Make a plan. She can also get a flight to LA, where she has better resources, make a plan, gear up and then go to New York. She coasts around a curve and slows to let G continue catching up. The problem with LA, she thinks, is that it’s G’s turf. He’ll keep trying to stop her and have plenty of leverage. She assumes he’s going wherever she’s going. Stopping him might be harder than stopping her. Anyway. She senses him coming even with her as they make the turn toward the ferry landing.

G’s gaze is steely on her while she buys tickets. The fact she’s bought two seems to ease his mind. They aren’t speaking. They walk the bikes on the boat with the crowd of pedestrians, chain them to the bike racks and walk upstairs to the fourth deck. He stalks her outside and they stand beside one another at the rails while the boat fills, leaves the dock and chugs out across the water. The wind is downright cold.

The view out over the water is gorgeous. Islands dot the horizons on all sides as they ferry makes it's way toward Friday Harbor, where they'll get the ferry to Seattle. It's mid-day, and the ferry is full of passengers of all stripes from residents to tourists. Snippets of conversation about whale watching, Orcas Island, hotel rooms and train schedules drift around them. Nell has thought about killing bad guys in a variety of scenarios, but she's never planned to take a life. She's not sure she can. She is sure she can't tolerate the constant haunting of her parents, G and the OSP team, nor the ever present threat.

G’s hand on hers is tentative, in response she flips her hand and holds his, squeezing. With that, some of the tension in her shoulders lets go. She’s still angry, but she can’t imagine not being with him. She finally meets his gaze.

“We’re gonna have to do this together.” He says.

She cocks her head.

“I don’t like you going, and I get it. You don’t like me going. We can’t hide much longer. So…” He shrugs. “We do this together.”  

She narrows her eyes, assessing. If he actually does get this, it’s huge. There’s heat in her chest, creeping up to her cheeks. “Don’t string me along and then go all lone ranger on me.”

“No.” He holds her eyes.

“I don’t need rescuing.”

“I see that. And if you ever do, I’ll be there. When I overstep, you should feel free to kick my ass.”

She smiles, liking the sound of that. “Ok then.”

“Where are we going?”

“DC.”

He nods. “Ok then.” His hand tightens. Not satisfied he pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She leans back, relaxing in his arms, thinking. Sorting through what they’ll need. Sorting through getting everyone in line.

~o~

Nell chose DC because she knows Tim McGee and Abby Sciutto will have, or help her get, anything they need. There are a billion ways to get to New York City from there. She hadn’t given much thought to G’s comfort level. While she knows G and Gibbs are close, it never occurs to her they'd stay with Gibbs. G suggested this when they got to SeaTac and made the arrangements while they waited for a flight. She can't figure out how he always ends up on home turf. It feels like she's going to stay with his father. She knows he's worked with the DC team before, but didn't realize how long he'd known Gibbs. She communicates with the team at OSP, her parents and Hetty. Those details attended to, with three hours until their flight out, she cozies up next to G on the floor outside the gate and boots up her laptop. She goes back over every shred of intel they have on Renee Holder. G looks on and they whisper to each other as they begin to think through potential plans.

The cab leaves them on Gibbs’s front lawn as Gibbs opens the door and strides down the walk to grab G in a hug. Nell’s met him once before, and of course knows of him from G, Tim and Abby who all consider him a father. His keen icy gaze lands on her, sizes her up, he smiles broadly. “Rumor has it you found this one’s heart.” He ruffles G’s hair. Nell wrinkles her nose, a small smile on her lips. She rests her hand on G’s chest. Gibbs smile widens into a grin. “I also hear you’re smart enough to keep him in line.”

“Don’t know about that.” She concedes. “It’s a close thing.”

“Always has been. Come on in.” Gibbs gets them settled in a guest room, and Nell heads for the shower. G and Gibbs sprawl on the couch with a couple of beers and G fills Gibbs in on the situation with Holder.

Having decided on a bath, Nell hears the rumble of their voices below. She sinks low in the hot water, closing her eyes and slipping under the surface to think. She feels her hair lift from her scalp as the heat soothesWhat she wants is something clean that will get past NYCSI. Holder can’t possible have enough enemies to end up dead from a gunshot wound or some such without a huge fuss. She wonders about toxins, maybe Abby has thoughts on that. Or gas. But the best bet is going to be an accident, which is far easier to imagine than to execute. Not impossible, though. If they can get in his house, site of most accidents. Bathtubs and such. She blows bubbles out her nose and sits up.

G is in bed when Nell comes in from her bath bringing the smell of orange blossoms with her. She sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing at wet hair. She feels G’s foot come to rest on her back and slide up. She leans back, enjoying the massage. When she tosses the towel at the chair he sits to run his hands up her back in place of his foot. Her skin is warm and damp under his hands. He rubs up her neck, into her hair. Breath on the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

“You good?”

She turns to face him. “I’m ok.” She hears the hesitation. She purses her lips. “Maybe.”

He frames her face, thumb brushing her cheek. He leans and kisses her. Hard. The crush of his mouth wipes her mind clear. Her mouth opens under his and she sinks into the kiss. Hands on her ribs invite and she slides into the sheets under him.  

Two days later Nell gets a secure communication through Tim from Granger. It contains detailed intel on Holder’s routines and a brief note saying ‘Being careful, partner.’ She grins at G. “You have to admit he’s good.”

G shakes his head. “Annoying is more like it.”

“You just don’t like anyone challenging Hetty.”

He shoots her a glance. “No. No, I don’t.”

Nell shakes her head. “Your loss.” She waves the print out in front of him. “My gain.”

“Don’t tell me he’s friends with your parents, too.”

She lifts a brow. “Friend would be strong, but they’ve worked together. I met him when I was about 14.”

G passes a hand over his face. “Of course you did.” He takes the paper and begins reading intel detailing everything from schedules to contact people both in Holder Inc and at the businesses he frequents. Drivers’ names, travel tendencies. The level of surveillance is impressive and helpful.

~o~

Nell and G walk away from Gibbs' house and go dark at midnight on a Friday. Metro to Union Station. Train up to Grand Central. The big splurge is on the Plaza Hotel suite that puts them within walking distance of Holder’s apartment. There’s a unit for sale three floors below Holder’s corner unit. After viewing the unit with a realtor, they break into the empty unit twice, before breaking into Holder’s unit one night when they know he’s at his home upstate.

Nell can get to places G cannot. She is nimble and strong, unafraid and graceful. He has a few moments of revelation belaying her down an elevator shaft. Working with Sam, G is the lighter and more nimble of the two. There are places neither of them would attempt that don’t daunt Nell. With Nell, roles are reversed and takes some getting used to. Strong as she is, she doesn’t match him in sheer might or general size. Anchored by him, she is practically airborne and utterly at ease. To get into Holder’s unit she scales the outside of the building for two floors, before traversing over the roof to the bathroom skylight, the skylight unlocks and opens open with ease and she drops through the opening. It takes her seven long tense minutes to open a hall window for G and let him in the apartment. They photograph everything they can see, careful to ensure they don’t turn on lights or otherwise alert neighbors that anyone is there.

The building security is both good and weak. Two uniforms patrolling, but with regularity. Cameras more for deterrence are easy enough to spot, and the alarm system is simply bypassed to the next door unit for the hour they are inside. Despite the confidence they have in surveillance well done, they wait three days to ensure their presence went undetected. One night they trail him to a fundraiser, watching everything from drivers to friends, food consumed and drinks imbibed. Holder takes several medications, including something for sleep. He also drinks, occasionally to excess.

The morning Holder’s body is discovered in his bathroom, G and Nell are already back on the island having breakfast at their usual spot. Within moments of the news breaking, Belinda sends Nell a text demanding their presence in London immediately. The next day McLemore leaves LA and Eric tracks him to Yemen. Nell tells her mother to wait. They want to lie low and keep their legends in tact until they are sure there’s no investigation into Holder’s death. No threat, nothing more to do.

~o~

Without planning to do, or speculation, or legends to build, the waiting is strangely idle. Eric, Tim and Nell watch the news and communication between the Holder family members, but nothing is happening. Nell and G ride ten miles every morning, touring the tiny island. They take the ferry to other islands, biking around to nature preserves. After a long ride, they shower, brushing against one another in the tiny living quarters. As often as not a touch or a look initiates lovemaking.

G’s arm around Nell’s waist, the brush of her hip against his thigh, a reach past a shoulder that leads to a kiss. Slow movements toward one another, lingering fingers trailed across damp skin. An appreciative glance. All become paths to sense stirring passion. They climb over one another, territory now well known and cherished. G’s fingers and tongue have learned every touch that elicit blissful humming delight. Nell’s hands and mouth have memorized the map of his pleasures. In the temporary lull of waiting, their lovemaking becomes an easy rhythm of play, conversation, worship.

Nell buys a cheap point and shoot camera, taking refuge behind it. She tirelessly treks around the marina, parks, ferries, taking pictures. She can’t concentrate enough to read, and the computer sucks her into digital oblivion, so she uses the camera to occupy her senses in the early evening. The first few outings G followed her. But her focus is such that he might as well not be there. He settles for reading on the porch until she comes back, while she uploads images to a Tumblr account she’s created for the purpose.

Nell notices immediately G isn’t on guard any longer. Although his gaze still follows her, the vigilance she’s become accustomed to wanes. That they both feel easy with her trekking across the island alone for hours is freeing and odd. Probably for the best. She wonders what will become of them when they return to regular life in LA. She calls the lawyer and renews the housing search. She’s loved living on the water. Perhaps something on a beach. Maybe she should think about investing in a house. It’s hard to imagine not living with G, and it’s impossible to imagine living with him now that she is safe. Despite the physical intimacies, he seems farther away, more contained. Only makes sense.

G feels Nell retreat. Though he’s known he was her distraction and protection through this ordeal, he’d hoped for more. He suspects she’s unsettled at the consequences of arranging and causing someone’s death, but he doesn’t know how to approach it. He is considerably more calculating thanmost people. He is clear and comfortable valuing Nell’s life above another. He’s not sure she is. They could go home any time now. Whenever she’s ready. He waits.

~o~

“I have to go.” G stands in the door.

Nell, curled on the rocker on the porch, looks up from her laptop.

He starts again. “That was Hetty. I have to go to Kuwait.”

Nell stiffens, brows drawing together. She closes her laptop without shutting down.

“Something’s up with one of Sam’s legends. He has to go. I have to go, too.” G comes onto the porch and leans back against the rail. “Come back to LA with me tonight? We leave in the morning. I need to get back.”

Nell glances over her shoulder at the door to the houseboat. “We… no, I should... “ She swallows. “One of us needs to check out of this place, clean up, you know. I… no. You go.”

His eyes narrow. “Ok, but we could probably get that done this afternoon. You could fly back to LA with me.”

Nell shakes her head. “S’alright. I don’t mind. It’ll only take me a couple of days. Then I’ll fly home and go back to work.” She stands. “I’ll ride with you to the ferry on the back of the bike and bring it back, though.”

She assures him it’s fine to leave most of his stuff. She’ll make sure everything gets back to LA. She tries not to watch him gather his ID and keys, wanting to distance herself from him leaving. Tension in her tummy and shallowing breath, she’s nervous. She puts her wallet and phone in her pocket. In the living room, G grips her arm.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“We won’t be gone long.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Come’ere.” He tugs her close. He kisses her. “If you need me to stay Kensi can…”

“No.” She interrupts. “God, no.” She tries a laugh. “You should go. Sam needs you.” She meets his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Go.”

G measures her gaze. She clearly doesn’t mean what she’s saying. She’s an infuriating bundle of independence and needs. “If I thought there was any reason to stay…”

She cuts him off again. “I know. You don’t need to stay. It’s fine. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Come on.”

He follows her out of the house. She rides behind him on the bike rack over the rear tire. Arms and legs around his waist, she’s pressed against his back, feeling the ripple of his stomach muscles when he pedals, and leaning on him as they coast. At the dock, they wait for the ferry, Nell on G’s lap in the lobby peering at the intel loading onto his phone. His mind is on the job ahead of him, already far from the dock and the ferry. And her. When the ferry lands, he gets up to board, pauses to take her face in his hands and kiss her.

“See you in a couple days?”

“Yes.” She whispers. “Be careful. Don’t want to come get you.” As she wanted, he grins at that. Then he’s down the ramp and gone.

Nell rides back to the houseboat, focused on the wind on her face and the trees towering over the road. It’s time to go home and she has no home to go to.

~o~

The houseboat is exactly the right size for one. But, Nell doesn’t really want to stay. She begins to pack. The sun sets over the bay, a cool breeze kicking up. She dials up an old playlist on her phone and turns on the music. G usually does the dishes, so she starts there. Singing along with an old Laura Nyro album, she washes the dishes, dries them and shelves them. She wipes down the counters, paying special attention to the corners. It’s been months since she listened to music, another thing G doesn’t do. At least she thinks he doesn’t. She doesn’t really know what kind of music he likes.

The floors swept and mopped, she decides to leave the bathroom for tomorrow after a shower. She fills the suitcases, packs the clothes, G’s things in the roller bag, hers in the back pack. The bedroom smells of them, her shampoo, his deodorant, sex. She opens the windows, peels the linens off the bed. Which is silly because she needs to sleep here tonight. The hollow feeling under her breastbone threatens tears. She wraps the linens in a large ball and carries them out to the porch. She’ll walk with them over to the laundry in a bit.

She goes online to get a ticket back to LA tomorrow evening. She starts to send a message to Eric and Marty, but doesn’t. She feels unsure what she’ll want when she gets back. She browses Netflix, hoping a movie will catch her eye. About now they would be playing chess. She sighs. G gone is insanely like she imagines it would be to lose a limb. Phantom itching.

She knows it’s him when her phone pauses mid-song to ring. “Hey.”

“Hey, just got home. It is really strange to be here without you.”

“Probably like being here without you?”

He chuckles, a sound so warm and familiar it takes her breath away. “Yeah, something like that, I’m guessing.”

“You guys flying out on a transport plane in the morning?”

“Mmm. Cargo plane.” He sighs.

“Cut your hair?”

“In a minute. What about you?”

“Just cleaning up. Missing you.” Even she can hear the longing in her voice. He is silent. Too much. She bites her lip. “Sam pick you up?” No answer. She struggles for something to ask, to get him talking. “Can you tell me about the mission?” Of course not. She goes on. “I should call the parents. I’ve got a ticket for tomorrow night. I’m doing the laundry in a bit.” She’s rambling. “Sorry, I’m not used to talking to you on the phone.”

“No. I wasn’t expecting it to feel so off kilter to be away from you.”

“Me either. But, you’ll be back in the rhythm with Sam in the morning.”

“Hmmmph. We’ll have a satellite phone, but mostly be out of touch. I will call when I can.”

“Ok. Good.” She’d figured as much, but still feels a twinge of disappointment. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No. We’re good.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She rests her head on the dining table in frustration. “I should let you go. Get the laundry underway.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She sleeps curled on the sofa, earplugs in, rock music playing. The next day she gives herself a stern pep talk and gets to work. She’s busy right up to collapsing on the plane. She sleeps to LAX, grabs a cab and gives G’s address for lack of anywhere else to go. Once she’s wandering around the house, it’s not quite right either. Her mother still wants her in London. She certainly has plenty of leave time left. She can’t quite manage the loneliness.

~o~

When Nell decides to do something she does it. One night at G’s house is enough to galvanize her to reclaim her life. Two days of house hunting finds her a condo rental on the canals in Venice Beach. She hires movers to transfer her furniture from G’s house to hers, and splits the difference on the bed situation, taking only one. The new house is farther from work, closer to Marty. She meets him on the beach in the morning to surf before work.

Between cases, she buries herself in intel analysis on the financials related to a drug cartel they’ve been hunting for years. She would normally enjoy nesting in a new place, but all the moving around has robbed the task of some of its charm. She cooks up a pot of chicken soup and drafts Marty, Kensi and Robin to come over and help her unpack and hang pictures.

The mission in Kuwait turns complicated and messy, extending over fourteen days. There’s nothing to do about it from LA. With the exception of sporadic two or three minute calls, Sam and G are out of reach. When he does call, Nell can’t think of much to say. His voice is tired and distant. How are you? Miss you. Yeah, still in one piece. With each call their relationship feels more ephemeral, something lodged just out of reach in her imagination.

~o~

Sam drops G off at the house near midnight. Long hours in a cargo hold have left him stiff and sore. That and two weeks of sleeping on the ground. He’d called Nell when they landed, no answer. It’s late. He opens the door to find his suitcase by the door with his laptop, and not much else. He stands in the doorway for a long moment surveying the sea of empty carpet. His recliner and lamp are where he left them. Everything else is gone. She’s gone. He narrows his eyes and tries to recall her saying anything about moving. He would remember I got a place, I moved out, I took the dining table. He closes the door behind him.

What he needs is a hot shower, hot food and long sleep. What he wanted was to hold her. He paces through the house and notes she left one of the beds. He pulls out his phone, starts to call her. Puts it down. He strips off the dirty clothes and takes a shower. Clean and dressed again he wants to go to her, but has no idea where she is. Never once has he imagined not knowing where she is. He’d pictured her here, or at OSP, maybe, maybe at Eric’s for dinner. He texts Sam. Need to bunk on your couch.

Sam meets him at the door. “Seriously?”

“She left.”

Sam considers this, stepping aside. “Okay. See you in the morning.” He heads back up the stairs. G stretches out on the couch in the study and stares at the ceiling. Thinks of Sam and Michelle upstairs. Not helpful. He texts Nell. What happened? Closes his eyes and thinks he’ll see her in the morning. At work. This thought drips like ice water through him. What happened? What happened is she doesn’t need him for anything anymore. She is safe, doesn’t need a distraction from fear. He recalls the fear in her face the day of the gunshots in front of her house, right before he kissed her. Outside of that terror, they didn’t have anything. His chest feels about as empty as the house. He turns over. His phone chimes. It’s an address. She’s in Venice Beach. His phone rings. He connects the call then can’t think of anything to say.

“G?” Her voice is sleepy.

“You left.”

“What?”

“You left.”

“Are you home?” She sounds more alert.

“At Sam’s.”

“Everything go okay?”

This question seems inane. He closes his eyes. “Yeah. Yes. All done.”

“Good.”

“You moved out.” He tries again.

“Yep. Found a great place on the beach. Expensive, but what the hell. Got used to being on the water.”

“Okay. Well, I thought you’d be at my house.”

“Guess if I hadn’t found a place I would’ve…” She trails off. It’s crazy making he can’t see her. Her voice is not enough to tell what’s going on in her brain. “But,” she’s going on, “I completely appreciate everything you did. You made something impossible good.” He swallows, listening hard. “I’d like to see you.” Well, there’s that.

“I’d like to see you, too. It’s late.” He concedes. Despite generalized longing, his confusion is enough to keep him on Sam’s couch. “Sorry I woke you, though. Just seemed really odd to see you at work in the morning without talking to you.”

“S’okay. It’s good. I’m glad you’re back.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

“Goodnight.”

~o~

G’s gone by the time Sam and Michelle get the girls off to school and sit down to breakfast.

“Did you know Nell moved out of G’s?”

Michelle nods. “Figured they’d talked about it, though.”

“Nope.”

“I just assumed everything was going according to their plans.”

“I’m pretty sure there were no plans.” Sam bites into toast.

Michelle hands him a napkin. “Is he okay, then?”

“I don't know. He didn’t stay home. He looked a little shell shocked.” He uses the napkin. “We’ll see later on. We may have a houseguest for awhile.”

Despite having left the Hanna house early, G is the last of the team to come in to work. Sam keeps an eye on him as he settles in behind his desk and boots up his computer. G greets Kensi and Marty, but is restrained. He nods at Sam. Then he picks up a stack of paper and begins to work. Not good.

Marty notices G’s reserve and aims all of his incessant questions about the mission in Kuwait at Sam. Kenis notices something, because she brings G a cup of tea. There’s a mountain of paperwork to do, and Sam was hoping for a quiet, crime free day in which to get it done. Now he’s not sure if a case wouldn’t help re-establish normal. He instantly feels bad for wishing crime on anyone and amends his thoughts. Maybe an organized crime investigation. No. Paperwork.

G has a ton of paperwork on his agenda also. He makes a reasonably good show of attending to it. The other half of his brain is occupied with whether or not to go up and say goodmorning to Nell. She didn’t come down when he strolled in, but that expectation was clearly out of line. Given she was reading his journal two weeks ago, and he knows exactly how to touch her to… ok, don’t go there. Given all that, there is no reason to act like there’s nothing going on. Except she moved out without telling him. Of course they weren’t actually living together. Were they? It seems they were, then now they aren’t. He shuffles team time reports. Technically his house was a substitute for a safe house and he was on protection detail. Under those circumstances, of course she moved. Which is ridiculous on the face of it, because they were lovers, weren't they? Aren’t they? Damn it. He takes a blank sheet of paper and writes _I miss the couch. Can I come over and visit it this evening?_ He folds the paper and lets it sit on the desk.

A half hour passes and then he gets up and leans over Sam’s desk, handing Sam the note. He looks up at tech ops. “Give that to her.”

Sam goggles. G goggles back, then gestures to the stairs with his chin. Sam tilts his head in wonder. “G. This isn’t junior high.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Sam snorts. “Ok. Just this once.” He gets up, if only to avoid G’s imploring gaze. He goes up the stairs at a jog. Nell is at her workstation scrutinizing her computer screen. Sam drops the folded paper in front of her. “From him.” He pivots and goes back down the stairs.On his way back to his desk he shoots G a glare that clearly says ‘leave me out of this.’

A moment later Eric jogs down the stairs hands G a piece of paper, rolls his eyes and mutters "seriously?" Before heading back upstairs.

G unfolds the page, _the couch and I have movie plans at 8. We'd be happy for you to join us._ He grins. That's better.

"Oh, for heavens sake." Sam grumbles.

G chuckles, tucks the note in his pocket and gets back to work. At lunch he picks up a daisy and leaves it on her desk.

~o~

Nell opens the door to G at exactly 8.00. He’s changed into a button down and is looking particularly cleaned up from the last time they were together on the ferry dock. He has a bottle of wine in hand, her favorite. Their eyes meet and her greeting sticks in her throat. His eyebrows go up.

“Hi?”

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Hoping I can come in?”

She laughs. “Yes, of course.” She turns from the door and precedes him into the living room. “So this is the place.” She extends a hand. The furnishings may be the same, but the feel is distinctly more modern. She has artwork up on the walls, an eclectic collection of photographs and family pictures he’s never seen. He takes them in with interest, slowly moving from image to image. Many of the images are from the San Juans the last week they were there.

G hadn’t seen the pictures, but recalls her taking some of them. She’s had them enlarged and framed beautifully, combined with the sound of the ocean nearby the setting is eerily familiar. “These are amazing.”

“Thanks. Let me get that.” She takes the wine bottle from him and goes to the kitchen. Wine seems like just the ticket. She’s not sure what to do with him here. “Want a glass?”

“Sure.” He stays on the other side of the bar, but she feels his eyes on her as she gets the goblets down and searches around for the bottle opener. Without thinking or asking she hands the bottle and opener to him. Her fingers touch his and she freezes, gazing over the counter. “Would you…” his hands are bigger and stronger than hers, he always opens the bottles. He hasn’t taken the full weight of the bottle from her yet. HIs fingers cover hers. “What are we doing?”

“No idea.”

She bites her lip. G lowers the bottle to the counter between them and withdraws his hand. She instantly misses the touch. Heat rises in her cheeks. She wants to look away, but can’t. “I didn’t know how this would be.”

“Me either.”

She spreads her hands flat on the tile between them. “It was so strange to be at your house without you.”

He nods.

“It just seemed like, maybe… I didn’t want… to take advantage of… anything.” Her words trickle out softly.

“Me either.”

“G. Say something.” She surrenders to feeling overwhelmed by him. Two weeks of wondering what he thinks, what she wants from him, how much she misses him, how scared she is swamps her.

“Still want to be with you. Not sure what you want.”

She takes in air. He’s so direct it jars. “Yeah. What you said.”

“Don’t want to go back to being only co-workers.”

“Me either.”

“Have a glass of wine, watch a movie?”

She smiles. “Yeah, okay.”

G opens the wine. Glasses in hand they sit on the couch. To Nell’s amusement, G sinks into the cushions with audible enjoyment. “I thought you were joking about missing this.”

“Well, the note thing was just teasing, but I’m becoming convinced couches have value. Thing about the recliner is you’re not sitting on the other end. Kinda got used to this.” He rests an arm across the back of the couch behind her. “Turns out I’m especially partial to furniture we’ve made love on. I was really glad you left that bed. But I ended up over at Sam’s last night.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Couldn’t even begin to deal with the house.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” His mouth quirks up at the corner. “When I left the island I felt like something was interrupted. Seems like maybe you thought something was ending. With us, I mean.”

“Um, no. Just didn’t think we were gonna live together. Then, I didn’t know how we’d not be living together. And I was feeling really homeless. I hated that the bastard took that from me.” Nell thinks aloud. “It was really hard that we couldn’t talk.” She realizes how true this is. “Not seeing you, or having any idea what to do was awful.”

He tugs on her ponytail, his hand falling to the back of her neck. “That’s gonna happen from time to time.” He leans closer, eyes level with hers. “We got slammed together there for a bit. I gotta be really clear here. Work is work, and we have to go sometimes. But, in life I’m not going anywhere unless you want me gone or you go with me.”

“Not gone, no.” Nell takes his glass and puts it on the end table beside hers. She climbs onto him, her mouth touching his, moving into his arms, kissing him. She feels like she belongs again. “Here. Want you here. I’m scared that the craziness has jinxed us.”

His brows pull together.

“All that sudden intimacy. If it was just a response to the danger, then what now?”

“I’ve been in a lot of danger with a lot of people, never made love to any of them.” He says. “Not one.” She narrows her eyes, not sure if he’s teasing her. His gaze is level and open, no trace of humor. He’s considering. “Truth be told, immediate danger is a bit of an inhibitor. All things considered we did pretty well given the circumstances. Now that we’re not hiding, and no one is after either one of us, there’s no telling how interested I can be in you.”

Her mouth twitches with amusement. “Hmmph.” She catches his bottom lip in her teeth gently, trailing her tongue along the edge of his mouth, she kisses him thoroughly.

“You taste really good. Do you think we can stay lovers while we figure it all out?” His hands span her ribs, his pupils are blown huge with desire, just a sliver of stormy blue remains.  His chest rises and falls under her knees as his breathing deepens. She doesn’t resist the urge to move, feel him under her. He groans. “I hope that’s yes.”

“Yes.” She manages a murmur before his mouth crushes hers, hands tightening on her with breathtaking possession. Desire wings up in her and she growls. She climbs him, her kiss ferocious. G absorbs the impact of her weight easily, running his hands up her ribs under her shirt. She loves that she needs no restraint, can ravage at will. She grips the front of his shirt, hooks her feet behind him, angles her hips directly on him, using the leverage to rock on him.

G groans into her mouth and stands, sets her on her feet and drops to his knees, peels her pants down, unhooking his own and stepping out of them.  He lifts her, takes two steps bringing her legs around his hips and her back to the wall. Anchoring to the hard surface he enters her with a deep upward thrust startling in its urgency. She’s hot sopping wet, her orgasm sudden, clutching. She bites her lip and the sharp pain of broken skin dissolves into the electricity of G rising into her again, this time in an explosive arc. She takes him in, his guttural moan of acute satisfaction ringing in her ear. She’s pinned to the wall and he finds her mouth again, kissing her long and hard.

Nell tastes of passion and bitter copper. He draws back. He scoots her higher and looks at her face. She wipes at her mouth with the back of a hand, leaving herself precariously in his trust. Her hand comes away bloody. G eases away from her and puts her on her feet. He cups her chin. He studies the inside of her lower lip and finds a small gash bleeding freely. “Christ.”

“Ow.” She says belatedly. Then she laughs. “I bit myself.” She takes his hand backing him up, pressing him to sit on the couch. She kneels, kisses the inside of his thigh, leaving faint but visible smears of blood. It occurs to him fleetingly that they might kill each other. Her mouth is tender and deliberate and thorough. He aches. She lowers her mouth onto him, humming a familiar tune that vibrates around him, her fingers tease up, caressing. The vision of her mouth closed around him is delicious. He sighs, hands in her hair. His hips jerk under her hands. She lets him go slowly and leans back on the carpet to catch her breath.

G sinks onto the floor and over her. He comes into her tenderly, easing flush to her hips. She frames his face with her hands as he slowly rocks in her. She keeps her gaze locked on his. G watches her and they rock together. As her breath becomes ragged and her face softens, he keeps it slow and easy. Her nostrils flare and her breath catches. Her golden brown eyes remain locked on his. She whimpers at the bottom of each snatched breath. He closes his eyes, savoring the sensation.

“Don’t.” She whispers.

He looks back, resting for a second tight inside of her. She nods, he rocks and she gently slips over, her mouth open, a deep ripple rises in her, shuddering through her and snagging his own that cascades up with suddenness. Her gaze doesn’t waver, holding his riveted as they crash toward each other. The extraordinary sensation of orgasm glazes his vision slightly but he keeps his eyes on her and she on his. The sensation magnifies and lengthens beyond measure and then ebbs away leaving them breathless.

G’s head falls and he lowers to meet her mouth. She kisses him, stretching up to meet him.  He rolls and comes to rest on the carpet beside her. He rests an arm over his face and tries to catch his breath.

“Nell.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“I agree.”

He laughs. She giggles. He nudges her. She rolls back toward him and pokes him. He tugs her to him and she feels the laughter bubbling around in him. Her giggle swells to laughter. It takes long minutes for their hilarity to dissipate.

When the laughter subsides, Nell props herself on G’s chest. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Not letting me get all weird.”

He stretches out on the floor and sighs. “No, you were right. This got weird all on its own. We should probably date for awhile. We kinda skipped that step.”

“True.” She traces a hand down his torso across his belly. “Does that mean you can’t spend the night, though?”

“Well. I don’t know.” His voice dips to a teasing rhythm. “What do I get if I stay?”

“Morning sex.”

“Deal.”

~o~

“They’re dating.” Sam says in answer to Michelle’s speculation.

“So you say. But, what does that mean?” Michelle rests the book she was reading on her knees.

Sam takes this to indicate a conversation coming on and mutes the television. “None of our business.”

“Nonsense, everything about G is our business.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand. “When he’s not with her, he’s here.”

“He’s here with her sometimes.” He concedes. G and Nell are over for dinner or something at least once a week, sometimes two or three times. This is in part because G has taken on being Gracie’s math tutor, a role he takes very seriously. He checks in with her via text everyday after school to see what support she might need with the day’s homework.

“They’re family. Our business. Do you think they’re a permanent thing?”

“Now how would I would I know?” He can see G and Nell together, but doesn’t want to encourage Michelle’s speculating. “It’s not like he tells me everything they’re up to.” G is surprisingly forthcoming about the relationship and Sam knows more than he wants. He shakes his head. “He’s pretty happy.” He allows. “It’s a little spooky to know he hasn’t been happy since I met him. He’s talking more, looking for his past less. Less compulsive. It’s nice.” He shrugs. “Her, I’m not sure. Don’t know her as well.”

“They’re both so dang cautious. It’s a wonder they ever got together in the first place.”

“I doubt they would’ve if nothing had happened.” Sam agrees. “But it did. And they did. So, what’s the problem?”

“No problem. I hope they stay together.” Michelle sighs.

Sam chuckles. “They’ll be here in half an hour. Ask ‘em.”

Grace Hanna has the gift of mathematics in ways that make it near impossible to survive a 6th grade math class. She’s smarter than her teacher and both her parents. She even gives G and Nell a run for it. 6th grade math homework is so simplistic she overshoots it and fails. G and Sam both remember this from school and hate to see her slogging through it. While there’s no doubt Sam could help, it's less complicated when G helps her with the homework, and then goes on to give her additional mathematics instructions that do keep her burgeoning math brain stimulated and interested. She'll be doing college math soon and not yet in junior high. Nell has been looking into college credit courses for her and prodding Michelle about private school.

This evening, G and Gracie are in the dining room bent over worksheets. Sam shoots hoops with Zara on the driveway, while Nell and Michelle chat in lawn chairs nearby. Michelle lowers her voice. "How's it going with..." she hooks a thumb toward the back of the house.

"Ok?" Nell isn't sure what Michelle wants to know.

"You know he still won't stay at the house without you."

Nell's eyes widen. "What..."

Michelle firms her lips and nods. "Yep. If you're not at his house, or he's not at yours, then he's here. You put a spell on him, girl. He doesn' t have the slightest idea what to do with himself."

"Don't I wish." Nell had no idea he wasn't home if they weren't together. They spend more than half their nights together, but that still means a lot of nights for him on the Hanna couch. She's not sure what to make of that, or of Michelle ratting him out. She turns her attention to the older woman. "Why tell me?"

"You need to know." Michelle says, as if that's obvious. Seeing Nell's confusion persist, she explains. "I figure he's not sure why he's not staying at the house alone, so I didn't think he'd tell you. I'm not worried, per se, but it seems a little off. He used to be a loner. I'd have to make him stay with us if he was sick, or during the holidays. Now, he's suddenly needing to be around family. Or wanting to be. Or something. I'm betting now you know, you'll figure out whatever is bothering him and fix it."

"Oh." Nell is nonplussed by Michelle's faith in her G wrangling abilities. "I'll see what I can do."

Dinner is pizza with lots of veggies handed out from the bar and eaten in front of the television. The girls are caught up in Supernatural, and have sucked the adults in as well. They have two episodes on the DVR. Girls on the floor, Michelle and Sam on the couch and Nell with G in the recliner, they watch and comment on the show. Sam and G are only grudgingly willing to tolerate demons. Nell, on the other hand, has a ridiculously thoroughgoing knowledge of wiccan, demon and angel lore, and can converse with the girls at length about the potential meaning of signs, symbols and characters. By the end of the two hours, she’s on the floor with them, deep in a discussion about hell.

It’s late when G and Nell climb in the mercedes. He glances over at her as he starts the engine. “Should I be concerned about why you’re fascinated with the underworld?”

“As it relates to me being fascinated with you, probably.” She says. “Should I be concerned about you not staying at your house alone?” Her teasing tone matches his, though her question is the more serious. If he wants to brush her off, he can.

He turns to look over his shoulder and backs out of the driveway. “Who gave me up?”

“Mitch.”

“Ah. I take it she’s concerned?”

“Oh, I think if it was as strong as concern she’d ask you instead of tattling. She’s curious, though.”

At the end of the street, he pulls over and puts the car in park. He turns to her. “Well, I was gonna drop you off and come back if we didn’t… “ He takes a breath and looks away. “I’m hating the empty house. Too lazy to get furniture. Would rather do that with you, than without you. When you’re there it’s okay. When you’re not, it’s just not comfortable. You just signed a lease, so it’s pretty clear you’re not moving back. Don’t want to pressure you by defacto moving in with you. A little intimidated by the idea of talking to you about how together our together is.” He rattles this off. He’s given it lots of thought. His eyes come back to her. “And now, I’m embarrassed and have no idea where to take us.” He looks out the windshield and lowers his head to the steering wheel where he bounces his forehead against it a few times.

Nell’s never seen him do this. “Well, don’t be silly. We’ll get some more furniture, and stay at either place. I’d rather be with you, than not. It makes more sense to stay at your place during the week, you’re closer to work. And we can stay at the condo on the weekends, or when we want the beach.”

He meets her eyes. “That simple?”

“I think so.”

“Do couples usually have two homes?”

“More often than you’d think. Look at Marty and Kensi.”

He squints at her. “But they’re…” He hesitates. “Huh. Okay.”


	5. "Whether we want to or not."

When G rounds the corner on foot, coming back into traffic camera view on the plasma screen, he collides with the otherwise escaping vehicle. Nell's body contracts with visceral empathy. She sucks in air as he rolls off the hood onto the pavement. It’s a controlled roll, at least so far.

"Ow." Eric whispers beside her.

Sam hits the car with the Challenger, bringing it to a complete halt. G is back on his feet, gun drawn. Sam leaps from the Challenger, and points down the perp with his gun. The audio blazes with yelled instructions, miranda warnings.

Nell watches G carefully, fingers hovering over her keyboard. He's irritated if she calls emergency services unless he asks. The action gradually grinds to a standstill. Marty and Kensi pull up, helping finish the take down. Nell notifies Homeland, who want in on the questioning. There's a flurry of argument about where interrogations will be before Hetty wins and the team heads to the boathouse. With three suspects in tow, the team splits up for questioning. Two agents from Homeland show up to pitch in.

Hetty pulls Callen from the boat house and sends Nell to make sure he's alright. Nell meets him at the OSP back door, eyebrows high. He shrugs.

"It looked painful." She says.

"Scrapes and bruises."

"Let me see."

He follows her to the locker room. He sits on a bench beside the lockers with a sigh. She peels his shirt up over his head, inspecting his ribs, back and arms. He groans, complaining under his breath.

"Well, if you didn't actually run into moving cars." She chides. "You could shoot the tires."

G cuts a sidewise glance at her. "You try that. Running top speed it's easier to keep going than to stop and draw."

"Easier? No one but you is going to try that." She runs her hand over his head. "I wish you wouldn't." She glares. She is quick with water and antiseptic, cleaning the scrapes on his forearm. She makes neat work of tying gauze on, ends tucked. Not so much that the scrapes need covering as to keep antiseptic on the scrapes and blood off his clothes. He’s somehow managed to scrape his chin and she peers at the gash while dabbing it clean. “G.” She chides under her breath. A lock of her hair falls on his face and he reaches up, grips the back of her head and presses his mouth to hers. She sinks into his kiss, his mouth opening under hers, he tastes of heat and adrenaline, she soothes her tongue against his, humming with pleasure. She pulls back and re-addresses herself to his wound. “You’re gonna look like you’re about six with a bandage on your chin.” She smears antibiotic ointment on and applies a stretchy fabric adhesive strip to the curve of his jaw. She frames his face with her hands, kisses him. "Take some ibuprofen. Ice here.” She points to the spot on his left hip where he made initial contact with the car. “I need to get back."

He grumbles, but complies, lying on the couch in the break room, texting with Sam about the interrogations. It's past 10 o'clock when they finally leave for home. Nell drives them to her condo in his mercedes. He's moving slowly by now, stiffness settling into his joints.

"I don’t know why Sam's having fits about the Challenger, he’s the one who drove it into the Chevy." Nell answers a text from Sam, who took her mini home.

"Love it when he drives the mini, though. It's like the clown car."

~o~

The woman in Hetty's office looks at Callen with relief and delight. "G." Her voice is husky  and something about the familiarity causes the hair on Nell's arms to prickle and rise.

The expression on Callen’s face is priceless. He still looks roughed over from three days ago, but his utter surprise is worth a week’s pay. Sam and Eric trade glances. Kensi’s brows are knit. Sam's gaze flickers to Nell in time to catch the minute firming of her lips before she moves.

With a predatory grace none of them have ever seen, save G, Nell crosses the room, stepping in front of G, takes his hand on her way past and tows him out of the room and into the gym, through the gym and down the stairs into the firing range. At the foot of the stairs she whirls on him. "Who the..."

G's quick enough to interrupt with an answer. "My ex."

"Ex?"

"Wife."

"What does she want?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen or spoken to her in... I don't know three years? Something like that." G rubs a hand over his head and neck. "Now that you've sufficiently marked me, you want me to go ask her? Or do you need to lick me, too?”

The corner of her mouth goes up. The woman in Hetty's office looks as if she's stepped out of a television screen into the office. Tan, sloe-eyed with a thick mane that cascades and curls over her shoulders, she looks like Nell's worst highschool nightmare. Biting that back for a moment, Nell tries to assess the ferocious territorial response she’s having. The woman's daring to say G’s name as if she owns it ignited a combustible mix of jealousy and anger that’s entirely new. She wouldn’t mind licking him. She gives him a curt nod. He goes back up the stairs, and she sits on the bottom step, arms crossed around her knees.

G gets upstairs, where Hetty is making tea in the break room. She halts him with a glance. “Miss Keller is in my office. She needs to discuss a personal matter with you. I recommend you take a short break and go meet with her.”

“Meet?”

“Yes. Off site.”

G closes his eyes for a brief moment. Surely this can’t be happening. He sighs. “Ok. Why not?” He goes to Hetty’s office door and leans. Tracey is still gorgeous, but now he’s looking at her carefully, something isn’t right. “Hey.” Under the make-up and the tight fitting t-shirt and jeans, Tracey isn’t well. In fact, if he was guessing, he’d say she’s wearing a wig.

“G. I’m sorry to barge in here like this. Can I talk to you? Privately?”

He nods. She stands. She’s thin. She walks past and he indicates the front door. He smells it. She’s sick. He follows her outside. Sunshine shows him even more clearly all is not well. He nods at his car, walks across the parking lot with her and opens the door. He climbs in, turns the car on, punches up the AC and looks at her. “What?”

Her eyes are dark and inexplicably sad. “To the point, huh?”

“Yep.” He can’t see any reason to humor her whim.

“I need your help. I need you.”

“No.”

She bites her lip. “Would you listen, before you say no?” She takes his lack of reply as assent and hurries on. “I’m dying.” She puts a hand on his arm to stop him saying anything. “And I have a daughter. You know I don’t have any family, G. I don’t want her in the system. You’re the only family I have. I need you to take her.” Tears well in her eyes. “I know there’s no love between us. But, there was once. Please. Please just think about this. I need you.”

G absorbs what he can. He believes she’s sick. He can tell. “You have a kid? How? How old is she?” There’s no way Tracey had his kid. He’s almost sure.

“She’s four.”

Ok. Not his kid. He knew that. But, “her dad?”

Tracey shakes her head. “No. Not a good guy. There isn’t anyone. I can’t… I couldn’t… you are the only person...” She begins to cry in earnest and G gives in, reaching over and taking her hand, pulling her close. With the console between them, he can’t do much more than give her shoulders a good squeeze, but it’s something.

Tracey rests her head on G’s shoulder and takes deep breaths, regaining composure. He’s not sure where to begin to try and sort this out. But, he can’t put her out of the car or dismiss her request out of hand. He swallows. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’re sick.” He starts. “Where are you staying? Where can I take you?”

She pulls away and sits, wiping at her face. “Damn it. Hate crying.” She screws her eyes tight shut for a moment. “I was in Sao Paulo. But, I came back to the states after I was diagnosed. Lung cancer. Insane. I’ve never even smoked. Damn it. Hate crying.” She wipes at her eyes and glares at the mascara smudged on her fingers. “I was in Houston, but when I figured this was terminal, I came to find you. I’m staying at the Hilton by the airport. Lisie is there with a sitter. I didn’t think you’d answer if I called.”

Fair enough. He wouldn’t have. He sighs, rubs a hand over his face and tries to think anything other than oh shit.

“I have to get back. Listen. Please just think about this. At least think about it. I don’t have… I’ll get a cab. Maybe I can call you tomorrow?”

“No, stop.” He says. Opening the storage in the console he gets out a notepad. He scribbles out his address. “Here. Go get your kid and go to my house. You can stay there until we sort this out. Here’s a key. I’ll answer the phone. We can figure this out.” He peels the house key off his keyring.

“I can’t stay with you.” She refuses the key, trying to hand him back the slip of paper.

“No, I’ll stay with Nell. My…” girlfriend isn’t going to sound right. He stops.

“You’re with her?”

“I am.”

Tracey takes the key. “Oh. Ok. Well, if you don’t mind.”

G shakes his head. “Tracey, I definitely mind. I don’t want you at my house, and I don’t want you dying. I want you well and out in the world somewhere I don’t have think about. Trust me. But, here we are. Go. We’ll talk later this afternoon. Let me think.”

Tracey opens the door. “I’m sorry, G.”

“Me, too.” G watches her get out the car and start walking toward the street with her phone in her hand. For a long while he sits in the car unable to think. Tracey is sick. She has a four year old daughter. She wants to give her daughter to G. He massages his head. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The car door opens and Sam slides in. “What are you doing?”

“Fuck.”

“Eric says Tracey got a cab fifteen minutes ago.”

“Fuck.”

“G.”

G turns to face Sam. “She’s dying and she wants to leave me her kid.”

“You have a kid with her?” Sam’s eyebrows arch up.

“No. She has a kid. Someone else’s kid. A four year old. Fuck.”

Sam is silent for a long stretch. “Well, damn.”

“Uh huh.”

The two men sit in the Mercedes, quiet. G can’t think of what to do next. Sam has no idea how to help.

The rear driver’s side door opens and Marty slides in. “Guys? It’s getting a little strange in there.”

Sam twists to give Marty his eyes. “His ex-wife is dying and wants him to take her kid.”

“Hell, I didn’t know you two had a kid.” Marty says.

G growls. “We don't."

Marty looks to Sam. "She wants him to take someone else's kid?"

"Seems to." Sam shrugs.

"Well that's nuts." Marty says. He looks back at G.

Kensi climbs in the passenger rear door. The three men shift their collective gaze to her. "What?” she says. “I'm not staying in there by myself."

Marty gives her a conspiratorial grin. "You're not going to believe this."

Eric's whistle is out before he fully remembers there's no one to answer. He turns to Nell, brows up.

"Where is my team?" Hetty materializes behind him. Wordlessly, Nell keys up the external security cameras. Callen's car is a bit left of the driveway, the four agents visible inside. Hetty sighs. "And  Miss Keller?"

"Left about 20 minutes ago." Eric puts in, pulling up his chair.

"What've we got, Mr. Beale?"

"A reporter who thinks there's a link between some money changing hands at a downtown mosque and Hamas. Homeland wants us to question the woman."

"Miss Jones, take Miss Bly."

Nell unclamps her gun, grabs her holster and stands. On her way downstairs she texts the team in the car. Coming for Kens. We’re heading to an interview.

As she’d have predicted, all four of them are on their feet in the parking lot when she opens the door. Kensi comes at a trot, brushes past Nell. “Two seconds, let me get my gun.”

Marty pulls her hair on the way past, Sam nods. Nell steps outside, standing in front of G, letting the door close behind her. She tilts her head.

G puts a hand on her arm and kisses her. “Tracey is sick. She’s dying, actually. She asked me to take her daughter. The kid is four years old and not mine. I sent her to the house.”

“Her family?”

G shakes his head. “She’s one of us. Doesn’t want her kid in the system.”

The door opens behind Nell, and Kensi steps back out. Nell rests a hand on G’s chest. “We won’t be long.”

G goes back to his desk, Sam and Marty watching. He spreads his hands on the desk surface, his gaze bouncing between them. “Thoughts?”

“Why you?” Sam asked.

“Says I’m the only family she’s ever had.”

Sam blinks, his eyebrows so high they’re almost gone. He catches it, and tries to moderate his face. “Wow.”

“Thanks.”

Marty leans back in his chair with astonishment. “That’s just sad, man.”

“Not helping.” There’s irritation in G’s voice, but he agrees, it’s sad. He’d ask Hetty what to do, but already knows what she’d say. In fact, already knows what he’d say. He’s not ready to say it yet, but it’s not in him to put Tracey’s kid in foster care.

Sam first, then Marty both turn their attention back to the paper on their desks. G rocks back in his chair and rests his feet on the desktop, ankles crossed, eyes closed. He thinks about other times life has swept out from under his feet, dumping him unceremoniously into another existence. In fact, he doesn’t really recall many smooth transitions. This time, like so many others in the past, the shift is behind him before he can reckon it. For a couple of years after they parted, he would’ve said Tracey was the only family he’d had, too. He keeps his breathing even and deep. He loosens his clenched jaw.

Eric’s voice drifts down the stairs. “Hey guys? Nell and Kensi just wiped their phones. They’re dark.”

The men stand and head up the stairs. The case is considerably more complex than originally indicated. The reporter is dating a Hamas agent and has first hand observations no one, he least of all, wants shared with the world in general and with the federal government in specific. While the women flee on foot into the maze of MetroRail Nell borrows a mobile phone from a fellow passenger to call Eric and the full team is on the streets for the next three hours. Securing the women is straightforward, arresting her boyfriend takes more time and ingenuity.

Sam sends Michelle and the girls over to G’s house with dinner when it becomes clear the team won’t be available. Nearing 8 in evening, with the bad guys finally in holding for Homeland and the sun setting over the Pacific, G and Nell get into the Mercedes and he points it towards the house. Sam will meet them there for leftovers.

“Tracey needs a place, too, you know.” Nell says quietly, her eyes on the road.

“Yeah, I know.”

“They should be together as long as possible. And she’s gonna need people to take care of her.”

“I know.”

Nell puts her hand on his thigh. “You’re a good choice. I’m planning for you to raise my kids, too.”

At the house, Michelle has sent Tracey to bed and Lisie is on Zara’s lap in front of a Disney confection on the newly acquired television. Michelle extracted all the information from Tracey and like Nell has already decided that Tracey and Lisie need a family. She shares details about the diagnosis, medical treatment, prognosis. Sam and G exchange glances listening to Nell and Michelle talk. No one has said it yet, but the decision to take care of both Tracey and Lisie is already made.

~o~

Sam leans on the heavy bag, keeping it steady while G hammers at it with the ferocity of a locomotive. Sam hopes it’s helping and is glad it’s not him. Every blow comes straight through the bag. At this rate they’ll both be tired and Sam won’t have done anything but lean in.

“G, what are you hitting?”

“Huh?”

“What’s bothering you?”

Whomp, whomp. “Pretty much” whomp, whomp, “everything.” He stops swinging, jogs in place. “Damn it.”

“Come on, man. I’m not bothering you.” Glad for the reprieve, Sam let’s the bag go. It swings between them. “Kensi’s not bothering you.” G glares. Sam holds his gaze, insisting. If beating something isn’t working, G might as well try talking. “Just tell me, G.”

“I would if I knew.”

Sam nods. “You might not know until you say something out loud. What is it?”

G stands still, lets his arms drop to his sides. Tired feels good. He closes his eyes. “I’m falling in love with this kid, Sam. I don’t trust Tracey. They could be gone tomorrow. Then what?”

“Tracey can’t go anywhere.” Sam says. “I know what you mean about the kid, though. Zara and Grace are like she’s been their little sister forever. Mitch and I are pretty smitten, too.”

“It feels like Tracey was just going to, I don’t know, leave her here. I have no idea what’s in her head.”

“Did you ask her?”

G cuts Sam a withering look. “No. I didn’t ask her.”

“Are you planning to ask her?” Sam tries another tack.

“I don’t know. If I knew, I probably wouldn’t be in here swinging at the walls.”

“If you’re not gonna ask her what’s going on, you ought to do something. Like get a lawyer. I mean, if you are serious about adopting the kid.”

“That what Nell says.”

“Well, she’s smarter than both of us combined. I’d listen to her. Come on, let’s get cleaned up. You coming for dinner?”

The two men start toward the locker room. G peels his gloves off, tosses them in the equipment basket by the door. “We are. Nell’s picking up Lisie. Need us to bring anything?”

“Nah. Gonna throw some steaks on the fire.”

~o~

Nell’s tired and cranky when she gets to work. The past three weeks have been weird, exhausting, surreal, and strangely sleep free. The emotionally charged changes in everything from their daily routine to their future still feel breathtaking. It’s not possible to talk through or even think through the mess of their loosely constructed family. If she can properly call anything a family at this point.  

With Tracey living at G’s, he’s moved entirely to the condo with Nell. G and the baby bounce between the condo and the house, and when Nell does the math he spends more time with her than he did before, but it doesn’t feel that way. The circumstances are further complicated by how much she loves the baby.

Lisie is quiet and smart. She’s reading, her vocabulary very adult, her manners solemn. She knows her mom is sick, and she’s been handed off to too many strangers over the past few months. Zara and Gracie scooped the baby up into their world and watchful care with the ease of well loved children. Because the girls love the adults in their life, their unconditional trust is transmitted to Lisie by osmosis, and she is immediately confident in G, Nell, Sam and Michelle.

Nell boots up her system. She stares at the array of post-it notes all over her workstation from the case they’d worked yesterday. She usually tosses them the instant a case isn’t active. For some reason, something about this one lingers in her mind like a thorn. Among all the other current thorns. She tucks her hair behind her ears, and tries looking at it all backwards. Something’s wrong.  

G takes responsibility for Lisie, stepping into the role of her primary parent with astonishing ease. He’s lawyered up and started the adoption process. He located a pre-school program and got Lisie on the wait list. In the meantime, she goes to Tracey for the day. He gets the baby up and dressed in the mornings, manages her bath and puts her to bed at night. He learned how to wrangle thick kinky locs from Sam’s mother. While Sam and Michelle were undercover together he’d stayed with the girls. Moms Hanna swung through and gave him lessons, because she certainly wasn’t coming over every morning to do hair. As a result, Lisie’s massive black halo of curls shimmer in various arrangements of puffs and braids each day, much to Tracey’s delight.

Nell re-focuses on incoming messages from SecNav, Homeland and the White House. The usual array of situations brewing just below the threshold for action. Big uproar over two guys out of Idaho trying to join IS in Syria, although since they’ve been caught there’s nothing for law enforcement to do. Huge fuss about the new encryption being used by Google and Apple, which makes her smile. In fact the case they worked yesterday was a chasing down a hacker who was near cracking an NSA database. It turned out to be kids. Why is it bugging her?

She appreciates what they did. Unbeknownst to most, Nell cracked the CIA once. She’s law enforcement yes, but she’s also a hacker. The two kids in question just didn’t seem to have the actual moxy to pull it off. Which, G says, is why they failed. She agrees. But, why try if you don’t have the balls for it? She shuffles the post-it notes again. Change the relationship. Look again.

Tracey will die while Lisie's the same age Nell was when she went into foster care, close to the age G was when his mother was killed and he ended up in the system. Nell frowns and runs her fingers over her brow as if she can sort her thoughts out physically. Is that why they are so unsettled by all this? Why she feels as if she’s made of tissue paper? She hops up from her workstation and jogs down the stairs to G’s desk. He looks up, interested in her arrival beside him.

“Need to talk.” She tilts her head at the front door. The only way they will have any privacy is to leave. The morning air is crisp and dry, the sun already warming the day. Nell takes G’s hand and starts walking. “It’s killing me Lisie is losing her mom at the same age we were.”

They walk. G’s hand tightens on hers. His steps slow. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I hadn’t put it together quite that way. But, yeah.” He stops walking, turning her to face him.

“I’m constantly worried Tracey will abandon her.” Nell says. “I want us to do everything we can to make sure what happened to us doesn’t happen to her.”

G’s brows come together. “We are…”

“We’re not.” She cuts him off, emphatic. “Someone has to help Tracey say goodbye properly. And, you and Tracey have to let me in. I know Tracey wants to leave Lisie with you. But you and I are… something.” She falters.

“Well, we’re not nothing.” He says, grin spreading over his expression. “What are you talking about? Let you in?”

“We have to make this ours. We have to make a family. We have to make a family Tracey is in, before she dies. Whether we want to or not. We have to do it for Lisie. We have to make it so we all let go of Tracey and it’s not just Lisie’s job.” She takes a breath. She’s not sure she’s saying this in a way that makes any sense.

“Ok.” G says.

Nell tilts her head, the breeze whipping her hair into her face. G reaches to tuck it back behind her ear. She leans her head on his chest. His arms come around her. “D’you understand?” She asks.

“No. But I will. I believe you. We’ll figure it out. Then, we’ll do it.” He rests his cheek on her hair. “I’ll call Nate. We can consult.”

Nell chuckles. “He’d like that.”

“Told you you aren’t the only one whose life can come back and bite ‘em.” He kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips.

They turn back towards OSP, walking slowly, G’s arm around Nell’s shoulders, hips brushing. Hetty waits for them at the door. “Miss Jones, my office.” Nell shrugs at G’s curious glance and follows Hetty into her office. Hetty puts a hand on Nell’s arm and speaks quietly. “Nell, I have to leave. I don’t know when I will be able to come back.” She’s pressing something into Nell’s hand. “This is everything you will need.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nell’s mind spins, lands on it. “His father is German.” She whispers.

Hetty smiles. “Very good, Nell.” She pats Nell’s arm. “Very good.”

Nell watches Hetty retreat past the team. Four pairs of eyes follow Hetty to the door, then return to Nell. She shakes her head, starts to say something, stops. She swallows and begins again. “She’s leaving.”

“Just leaving?” Marty asks.

“Leaving for where?” G asks.

Nell lifts her shoulders. She doesn’t know. She slips the small compact Hetty handed her into a pocket. “She didn’t say. Guess we’ll find out later.”

“Well, when is she coming back?” Kensi asks.

“She said she doesn’t know.” Nell looks at each face, Eric is on the stairs. What is it with mother’s leaving? She blows out a breath. She shrugs. “Let’s get to work?” It seems odd for her to be the one saying it, but someone needs to. Sam nods his approval and pulls a sheet of paper off a stack on his desk. That cue seems to settle it. Marty begins typing, Kensi picks up a pen and clicks it several times before beginning to write. G’s gaze lingers on Nell, then he turns to his computer. Nell follows Eric up the stairs.

Back at her workstation, she pulls out the compact Hetty gave her and examines it. It looks to be rather old, brass, a heptagon with rounded corners, about an inch deep with a hinge along one side and seven tiny brass roses standing on its lid. She opens it, half expecting it to be a music box. But if it ever was, it is not any longer. Inside, the box is polished to a golden glow. Two tiny felt envelopes are nestled inside the seven corners. Nell takes them out, feeling with her fingers, a key, and most likely an sd card. She puts them back. Will examine them more closely in private. She slips the compact back in her pocket.

By noon Owen Granger is lounging on the couch in the break room. The team’s been on paperwork detail for hours and is bored, curious and restless. Marty offers to make a run for take out and circles the building taking orders. G’s gone down to the shooting range, Kensi and Sam still fill out forms. Nell tracks the German parents of hacker number one all the way back to Hetty’s old nemesis Mattias.

“Guys.” She says, to no one in particular. “Look at this.”

Eric leans over her shoulder. “Oh no.”

Sam comes up the stairs. “What are you two on about?” Nell leans back so he can see the screen. Sam calls G on his mobile. “G, get up here. Nell just found a link between those bozo’s from yesterday and Mattias. Yeah. You can bet it’s got something to do with Hetty taking off.”

“Well, damn it.” G is on the stairs behind them, Kensi on his heels.

“Explains why those boys seemed like such light weights. They are. They were set up.” Eric says. “Bet there was an assumption they’d get caught and let off light.”

“Which they did.” Nell says.

“But not before drawing us all out.” G says. “Nell, can you get in touch with Hetty?”

Nell shrugs and picks up her phone. “No idea. I can try.”

“God you guys are a pain in the ass.” Granger’s grumble comes up the stairs, followed by his presence. “You don’t have a case. If Hetty needs your help she’ll ask for it.”

“Indeed.” Martin Winslow climbs the stairs behind Granger. “Hello darling.” He grins at Nell.

Nell gets up reflexively and steps into the circle of her father’s arms. Her father here cannot be good.

“It’s good to see you again, sir.” G clasps Martin’s hand behind Nell. “You know Granger? This is Sam Hanna, Kensi Bly, Eric Beale. Guys this is Martin Winslow, Nell’s father.”

Martin holds his daughter close and nods to each new face. “Lovely to meet you all, I hear such good things from Nell and Henrietta.”

Nell looks up. “Is this something to do with mom and Hetty?”

“It is. And they’ve both sent me to ensure none of you get involved.” Martin smiles.

“Thought that was my job.” Granger says.

“They suspect it may take us both.” Martin says. His gaze meets Granger’s and they exchange knowing expressions. Granger’s eyes come to G, a smug smile on his lips, daring G to circumvent his de facto father-in-law.

Sam makes an amused noise, drawing G’s glare. Sam lifts a brow with a look that says ‘better you than me, brother.’

Kensi clears her throat. “Someone want to fill us in?”

“With renewed tension between Russia and the west, something’s come up involving intelligence Hetty was once rumoured to have. Belinda and Hetty are on a mission regarding that intel. If they need us, any of us, they’ll call.” Granger says.

Martin looks at Nell. “If we don’t hear anything from them, Hetty tells us you have what you need.”

Nell nods. She has no idea what she has, but now’s not the time to get into that. She steps back, smoothing her dress. Martin and Granger survey the team as if they are delinquent children. Then on some silent accord, both men turn to each other and begin back down the stairs talking about a restaurant in Brentwood. As an after thought Granger looks over his shoulder. “Back to work.”

Which is easier said than done. Marty comes in with lunches and finds a grumbling team gathered around the table in Tech Ops. While he passes out the various requests, Kensi and Nell fill him in. “Damn it. How do I always miss the good stuff?”

“You don’t miss the good stuff.” Kensi says. “There’s nothing good about this stuff.”

“Don’t be so literal.” Marty says. “You know what I meant.”

“You should say what you mean then.” She counters. “I shouldn’t have to just know.”

The team lets Marty and Kensi’s bickering flow around them, normalizing the atmosphere a bit. They go through the motions of getting into their food, idle conversation. The arrival of her parents in current circumstances quiets Nell to silence, her thoughts racing to put together everything she knows and come up with answers.

“Guys?” Eric’s been watching his screens while they eat. He nods at an incoming message from SecNav. “That could get interesting.” He picks up his sandwich and drink, moving to his work station.

Everyone has eyes on the plasmas as they finish eating and lunch remnants vanish into trashcans. Backpacker up at Point Mugu State Park have reported suspicious activity seeming to involve some exceptionally sophisticated hardware being passed off as a toy. One of the hikers snapped a picture the park rangers passed along to local law enforcement, who asked the nearby Naval Base for help identifying. The image comes up on the center screen.

“Drone.” Nell, Eric and Sam say in unison.

“Russian drone.” Nell clarifies. She looks back over her shoulder, knowing Granger’s come up the stairs behind her. “Also not our job?”

“Not yet.” Granger says. While the team watches, the Navy staff identify the drone and Homeland dispatches a team to the park. “Still not you.” Granger points out.

Nell turns her chair to face Granger. “What they are looking for is here, isn’t it?” There’s no challenge in her voice, but the tension in the room ratchets up a notch. G moves to stand at her shoulder.

“Knowing Hetty, probably yes.” Granger says. “Perhaps why she insists on all of you staying put. If you are needed to defend whatever it is, best you’re here to do it.” His laconic reply underscores his seriousness.

Nell gives a curt nod and turns back to her keyboard.

“Come on, all of you.” Granger grumbles. “Downstairs.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands.

Beside Nell, Eric’s lips twitch with a contained laugh. She senses G behind her hesitate then go. She systematically picks up all the post-it notes on her workstation, carefully collecting them in a small pile she tucks in a pocket. “I’m going to the boathouse for a bit.” She says. She smiles at Eric. “Hetty left an sd card I want to look at. In private.” She gets to her feet. “Call if you need me.” On her way toward the back of the building she sends the same message as a text to G, Sam, Kensi and Marty. She wants to know if either her father or Owen Granger make noises about where she is.

A 256GB sd card is wrapped in the small felt envelope. Nell slides it into a laptop and opens the directory. There’s more information here than she can look at, let alone gist, in a single afternoon, and she’s pretty sure she won’t get the rest of the afternoon to herself. She stares at the directory items for a long time, everything is listed alphabetically, but she sees a clear file naming convention. She follows the list down and her gaze rests on a document file named NellStartHere. She smiles and clicks on it.

G is fine with Nell in the boathouse for about an hour. He’s intensely curious about what Hetty left with Nell. He also has a box full of paperwork to approve, and he gets after it with diligence. Unfortunately it doesn’t occupy much of his brain, leaving plenty of spare cogitating power for thinking of ways to track, secure and kill Mattias.

“Just go ask her.” Sam says.

G looks up. “What?”

“You keep glancing over at that door. Just go ask her. We all want to know.” Sam says.

For a split second G wants to argue this for no good reason other than it’s what they do. Sam cocks a brow at him. Of course Sam’s right. A low rumble of laughter comes from the break room, where Martin and Granger are swapping memories. G goes out the back.

In the workroom at the boathouse G’s greeted by Nell’s grin, something he hasn’t seen in a couple of weeks. “What’ve you got?”

“Black book. Safe deposit box key.” She holds up a small steel key. “And I have an idea. D’you remember when we decoyed a few pages of Hetty’s black book? Well, she had me make a complete decoy after that. They’re in Vienna to give it to Mattias. He has to be working for the Russians. The Germans don’t care what’s in that book.” She’s way ahead of him, but G’s catching up.

“The book is here.” He says.

“The book is in Hetty’s safe deposit box, and I have the key as well as permission to open it.” Nell puts the key on the chain around her neck and G watches as it slips between her breasts and out of sight.

“We stay here.” He says.

“We stay here.”

~o~

“G Callen. Long time, friend.” Nate Getz’s voice on the phone is warm. “To what do I owe the call?”

“Need to figure out how to make a family.”

After a lengthy silence Nate says, “You’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“Wow. I’ve been out of the loop too long. We need to grab a coffee and catch-up.”

They choose a Starbuck’s geographically between them. When G arrives, Nate is folded into an armchair with a tall cup. G gets coffee, pulls up a chair and launches off with a relatively detailed account of the past seven months. When he reaches his current situation, G slows to consider how to explain how much he loves Nell and Lisie both, how his life has fundamentally changed, how he has fundamentally changed. Daunted, his narrative becomes halting, finally grinding to silence.

Nate, utterly taken aback by this new version of G, gazes back at G steadily. He takes a breath. “Let me sum up. Just to make sure I got you. You and Nell are a couple. Tracey has terminal cancer and you are in the process of adopting her four year old daughter. The Hanna’s are your default family, and everyone has added Nell, and possibly Lisie. You and Nell are concerned Lisie will feel abandoned when Tracey dies, and you want to know what I think might ameliorate that. Yes?”

G relaxes into the chair, a pleased smile on his face. “Exactly.” This is why he called Nate. “So, what do we do?”

Nate blinks. “G, this isn’t one of those things there’s a script for, you know. I think Nell has the right of it, though. If you can create an atmosphere where Lisie isn’t the only person grieving Tracey, and if Tracey can communicate she’d never leave Lisie willingly, then Lisie would stand a chance of feeling really sad, but not actually abandoned. That’s two huge if’s. No idea how you’d pull that off in a couple of months, which it what it sounds like Tracey has. No idea if you and Nell have been together long enough to make a family. That’s pretty variable from relationship to relationship.”

“What if we just all suck it up and move into the house together?”

“You mean all eight of you under the same roof?” Nate flashes a wide grin. “I love you, man. You do not do anything by half.”

“That wasn’t an answer.” G leans forward, cup between his hands. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s one lucky kid.” Nate says. “Other than that, there’s no right or wrong. Nothing guaranteed. You know this.”

“Yeah, but I need to know if it’s just insane to try.”

“Oh, it’s insane, alright. But, really, really sweet.”

G scowls at his friend. Nate lifts a shoulder. G guesses there a worse things than being thought of as sweet. But, given the situation, he’ll take it. Driving home, really to Nell’s, he thinks through the logistics of all of them moving to his house. He’s not even sure they would. Though, who is he kidding, Michelle and Nell will make it happen despite the rest of them. He wishes he could talk to Hetty about this, but she remains out of communication with the team. Nell hasn’t heard from her, neither has Granger.

The condo is empty and G checks the time. Nell was taking Lisie from Tracey to the Hanna’s for dinner. Lisie’s staying the night with the girls. Nell should be on her way home. He’ll enjoy having her to himself. Oddly, he misses bath and story time when Lisie stays at the Hanna’s, he doesn’t even want to consider what that means. The mini pulls in behind the Mercedes, lights splashing across the entryway windows and walls. Wine would be nice. He’s peering into the fridge when Nell bustles in on a gust of cold evening wind.

“Hey.” She dumps a jacket, purse, lunchbox and her shoes just inside the door. “Did you see Nate?”

“I did. He says hello.” He’s got a half bottle of white wine. “Want a glass?”

“I do.” She tucks up under his arm as he closes the refrigerator, snuggling close.

Setting the wine bottle on the counter, he turns, pressing his mouth to hers, licking her lips open. The immediacy of her under his mouth is breathtaking. He hums approval and pleasure. He frames her face with a hand, the other hand at her waist, holding her to him. His hand slides into her hair, cradling the back of her head. Her hand comes up under the hem of his t-shirt, fingers pressing on his belly. He releases her mouth, leaning his forehead to hers. Her maple hazel eyes smile up at him, crinkled at the corners. Her mouth is red and wet from his kiss.

“You first. Wine later.” She says. She’s got a fist full of his shirt, tugging him closer, crushing her mouth to his. For a split second she thinks about the bed, but fiery wanting licks up through her belly and pushes her thoughts to more immediate pleasures. She feels the vibration of an answering growl in his chest. Hands span her waist, cross her back. Arms around his neck, she hoists herself onto him. As he takes her full weight, she tucks her knees up, resting on his hips. Her teeth find his neck, the curve where his shoulder begins, his collar bone. Hands on her thighs and the rhythm of steps. She sighs against his throat. Couch or floor, she wonders.

G drops to his knees, answering that question, taking her to the floor. He did make it as far as the carpet. Her hands skates over his belly, past the waistbands to grip him. He gasps and peels her panties away in a single motion. In another move, he’s gone from her grip, he sweeps the skirt of her dress up over her head, burying her in crumpling flower patterned cotton. She laughs, begins to protest, and his mouth presses to her core and her laugh melts into a groan of appreciation. His tongue darts into her, gentle caress of lips. She surrenders, pleasure cresting over her. She wants him in her, more friction, more something. She moans. Then he’s there, thrusting up into her, hand lifting her knee to go deep. She arches to meet him, clenching around him. He sets a demanding pace and she pulls the fabric of her skirt away to have his eyes and his mouth. Their gaze locks, passion zinging up, high and higher, melting and she shatters with pleasure.

He keeps the pace through her orgasm, rocking steadily. “Come for me again.” He whispers, plunging into her, a hand at the nape of her neck, weight on his forearm. His forehead touches hers, his eyes so close she can see into him, crystal blue affection and desire that takes her breath, and she does come again, shuddering with the power of it. His body coils over hers, every muscle vibrating toward release. She loves watching him come apart over her, raw surrender. One, two, three, four more thrusts as he spills fire into her. He comes to rest in the cradle of her hips. She tightens her legs around his waist, kissing his neck. “Thank you, lovey.” She whispers against his skin.

“Mmmmm. Don’t think that was me. That was you.” He props up on his elbows to see her, kisses her nose, lips, chin. He rolls, taking her with him, until she’s resting on his chest and he sprawls beneath her. She snuggles up, tucking her head under his chin, rubbing her face on his skin, breathing deeply of him. He runs fingers through her hair, idly twisting strands. “Been thinking about what you said earlier. Never want to leave you out of anything.”

Nell considers. It’s been a bit of a day and she’s not sure what something he’s talking about. She looks up, rests her chin on his sternum, kisses a spot under his jaw. “What’d I say?”

“Needing to let you in. Needing to let you be part of adopting Lisie.”

She licks her lips. “Feels like she’s me all over again. So strange. I can’t even imagine leaving her. Want to be for her like my parents are for me, G.” Post-lovemaking intimacy shimmers in the air around them. She closes her eyes and imagines melting into him. She matches her breathing to his.

G gathers her, arms wrapped around her, finding her lips with his, kissing her thoroughly. “Love you.” He says against her mouth. “So much.”

“Love you.” She answers, her voice soft and full. She catches his mouth, nips his bottom lip, tracing with her tongue. He tugs her flush to him, takes the kiss deeper. The intensity of his touch increases, warm, insistent. His cock twitches against her belly, firming with interest. She smiles into their kiss, wiggling slightly to feel him press up against the slick wet between her thighs. “Hmmmmm.” She murmurs pleasure into his mouth. Reluctant to leave his kiss, she arches back and guides him into her, settling on him with a grin. “Good refractory time, Mr. Callen. Ah, oh.” He snaps his hips up, filling her. She accepts the cue and gets to work, riding him, feet planted on either side of his hips, a combined grind and slide. Delicious, she closes her eyes, head back. She reaches between them to touch herself. His fingers join hers, her breath hitches, body quaking, she comes, half him, half masturbating, all moaning wet hot bliss. He groans her name, the heat of him pounding up into her, lovely shudder of him coming undone. She soothes hands across his chest, his skin hot and wet with sweat, bringing everything slowly back into focus. She folds onto him. They catch their breath, give each other light touches, gentle shifts of weight. He’s kissing her shoulder, a hand firm on her butt. She searches for his mouth with wet sticky fingers.

He catches her finger in his mouth and sucks, humming. “You again.”

She slides to curl beside him on the carpet. “Uh huh. Me again.” She bites his upper arm.

“Ow, cut it out.” He rolls, starts to sit, rolls back. “Hmmm. Light headed.” He chuckles.

“Hah.” She lifts her own fuzzy head. “Yep. Guess I’m not gonna need that wine to unwind. Want to go to bed?” It’s not late, but she’s loose limbed and relaxed, the perfect state for sleeping. In response to the thought, she yawns.

~o~

Hetty calls Nell Monday and everyday from then. Nell gives her the daily sit rep, takes notes and passes instructions on to the rest of the team. G rebels both Granger’s lurking and Hetty’s long-distance management by putting his feet up, leaving the rest of the team at loose ends.

Nell spends every free moment dipping into the contents of the sd card. The historical information about covert operations during the 1970’s and ‘80’s is intricate and sometimes confusing. There’s also information about several houses Hetty owns in Los Angeles. The safe house she and G stayed at the first time they were together is a guest house at one of Hetty’s properties. Martin is currently staying on her yacht. Nell and G have both been guests at the house in Brentwood, which Nell thinks of as Hetty’s home. As interesting as it all is, Nell cannot find the connection to anything happening in the present. At least not yet.

Sam’s teaching Marty a Navy Seal lethal hand-to-hand combat technique and every chance they have they are in the gym. Kensi alternates between helping them by sparring with Marty while Sam coaches and pestering Eric into helping her learn the new tech ops system while he keeps an eye on incoming intel.

Another week passes before Hetty instructs Nell to start surveillance support for Hetty and Belinda in Vienna. Vienna has a fairly complete cctv surveillance system in place, but getting permissions to access it takes Nell through Director Vance, and SecNav to the Secretary of State’s office. It would be easier by half to hack the system. But, if there’s trouble official help will be required. Two days later, permissions in hand, she and Eric are running on-going surveillance support.

The video surveillance gets G’s attention and he relocates to tech ops. It’s easy to forget he’s good on the systems because he’s always out in the street. While he’s not even close to Nell’s or Eric’s capabilities, he’s good. Kensi decides if G can do it, she can do it, and her digital intel gathering skills increase from sheer competition. Nell’s much happier seeing Hetty and Belinda every day, even if she’s not always sure what they’re up to.

Aside from backing up LAPD on two trafficking cases, one of which turns out to include some heroin smuggling, the team is idle. G suspects this is purposeful, sure both Granger and Vance have information about what’s happening in Europe requiring them essentially to be on standby. Whatever it is, he keeps an eye on Hetty coming and going from a Viennese hotel, restaurants and shops with Nell’s mom, looking for all the world as if they’re on vacation. It has to be a CIA op, but that’s all he’s deduced. Not that he’s trying. As long as he can see them, he’ll wait.  

OSP is as quiet as it’s ever been. Very quickly though everyone seems to be living at G’s house. Crowded, but easier in many ways. A single conversation over dinner got both Michelle and Nell in motion with Tracey. Tracey Keller has always been on her own. She is accustomed to making her own decisions with little or no regard for others. She’s very ill, and very scared. The combination makes her a handful. Nell spent an evening with Tracey, and seems to get consent to adopt Lisie and something less tangible G can’t put his finger on. Not surrender, but an accord of sorts. He considers asking, but suspects neither of them would tell him what happened. After that, they divide up the house and the center of all social activity moves to G’s house.

The master bedroom goes to Tracey with a cot for the overnight nurse. There’s a bedroom for whatever Hanna’s happen to be staying, and a bedroom for G, Nell and Lisie. Michelle finds a double bed with a bunk over it and a trundle under it.  One Saturday, Nell’s got movers swapping their bed into a guestroom and replacing it with a hospital bed for Tracey. Dressers and clothing shift from room to room, and from house to house. For a week, no one seems to know where anyone is after 6pm.  

Maddeningly, they never establish a routine of habits. Tracey’s health deteriorates too fast. By the time there are enough beds, plates and clothes for everyone in the same house, Tracey is bedridden, ramped up on pain meds. The adults take turns sitting in Tracey’s room reading aloud to her, offering what comfort they can to someone who will never be comfortable again.

Marty and Kensi come by with entertainment for the girls, trips out for ice cream, of a movie. Kensi’s mom comes with them and takes over Tracey’s evening bath from the nurse. Everyone needs a mother to give them a bath, she says, and begins coming every night.

Martin’s dry humor and absolute ease with illness makes him a great favorite with Tracey. He visits during the day, while everyone else is at work, makes tea, and listens to her morphine enhanced ramblings. They tell stories about adventures in Spain, Yemen and Brazil. Lisie loves Grampa Martin’s singing. Martin gives the little girl piano lessons on his tablet, promising a real piano for her fifth birthday, still 6 months away.

To everyone’s stark surprise, except Nell, Owen Granger wrangles connections in Brazil and has a rather large folk art mandala delivered from Tracey’s house in Sao Paolo. He hangs it in her bedroom, opposite the bed. Two days later he brings over a walking stick carved of rosewood and seven potted tropical trees that transform the bedroom entirely.

The last time G had this much happening in his private life he lived in a children’s shelter. He’s really grateful, if surprised, to have a family able to absorb this level of disruption, crowding and general sadness. In a sudden and immersive way, they all get to know each other far too well. As invasive as it can feel at moments, the truth is there are enough of them no one is particularly overwhelmed. The situation is also heartbreakingly tangibly temporary.

~o~

Martin drops an envelope on Nell’s desk, kissing her on the forehead. “From your mother.”

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Nell opens the envelope and  a coupon for twenty-four sessions of couples yoga slides out. She shoots her father a sharp look. “Really?”

“She’s worried all of this is putting a strain on your relationship.” Martin holds up a hand. “I told her you’re fine. She doesn’t believe me. I’m just following orders, love. And, I’m here because Henrietta says she’s calling in this afternoon and I should be here.”

“Of course.”

After lunch, Nell drops the yoga passes on the table in front of G. "What do you want to do with these?" 

"We can go if you want."

She lifts a brow. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Why not? Yoga is fun. "

"How do you know that? You've never done yoga."

"Of course I have."

She sits, giving him an incredulous stare. "Do tell."

“I get credit for nothing. What do you all think I did before I met you? I’ll admit the first class I took was part of establishing a legend. But, I like it. It’s peaceful.” He lifts a shoulder. “Haven’t been in a long time, could be relaxing.”

Nell’s grin widens as she nods. “I’ll find out when the classes are, then. We should split these with Sam and Michelle.”

Sam lifts his head from his computer. “Split what?”

“Couple’s yoga.” G says.

“Uh huh.” Sam’s huff is skeptical.

“What? It’s gonna be fun. Mitch would be really good at this.” G offers. Nell can’t tell if he’s teasing Sam or being serious, or both.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” Sam says.

G nods. “Yep.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “If I don’t go, then I’ll look bad. Man, the shit you get me into.”

G chuckles. “Can’t help it if I’m the more romantic of…”

“Don’t go there.” Sam warns.

G laughs, Nell giggles.

Marty shrugs. “Hey, yoga is right on time after a long day man. ‘Specially if you’ve got a woman who can hold you up.” He neatly catches the pencil Kensi throws. “Hey, you could put out an eye with that.”

“If only I could.” Kensi mutters.

Nell narrows her gaze a G. “I bet I can hold you up.”

One eyebrow goes up. His eyes travel her length. “Hold me up how?”

“Well, obviously not just pick you up. But if I was on my back or…”

“Oh my god.”

“Whoa, stop.”

“See what I have to put up with?”

Marty, Kensi and Sam speak at once. G ignores them, looking at Nell speculatively, thinking through her leg and core strength, balance also being a critical factor. He stands, walks around the table and takes her hand. “Let’s see.” Nell hops up and they head for the gym, hand in hand.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no hand holding in OSP.” Kensi says.“Hetty needs to get back here.”

 


	6. “But we’ll manage fine.”

         The sound canceling headphones – Robin donated a pair of Eric’s – provide Nell with respite in the crowded house she often thinks of as home. After taking care of the dinner dishes with Zara detouring through a lengthy conversation about dating Nell settles on the living room floor, back to the wall, cross- legged between the couch and the bookshelf, with her laptop, the headphones and Hetty’s sd card. Lost between the liquid precision of Brahms on piano and a file of CIA correspondence from the 1970’s, she’s gone.

         In the undercurrent of the operative chatter she’s reading, there’s a whiff of evidence Hetty and Belinda stole Russian intel identifying key informants and agents across Eastern Europe. If Nell’s reading this correctly. She sorts dates against place names, and what has to be code names, looking for anything workable as a key. Toggling between screens, she’s dimly aware of the small hand sliding under the laptop and gripping her ankle. She idly strokes the little fingers, scoots over a bit, allowing Lisie to slither between her and the wall, nestling, nudging and insinuating first a hand, an arm, a head onto Nell’s lap. Nell shifts, leans back against the couch, balances the laptop on a shelf, drops a kiss on the curly head now resting on her chest. Nell’s eyes leave the grid of her screen for a moment just savoring the visceral pleasure of Lisie melting sleepily in the shelter of her body. Nice. Sure enough Lisie is asleep. Lisie has figured out cuddling hurts her mom. Nell ignores the achy chords of sadness, returns her attention to words and dates.

         Nell has no idea how much time has passed when a large heavy hand on her shoulder yanks her attention back into the room. G leans around the arm of the couch, brows up. He lifts an earphone off gently. “Can you get out of there?”

         She surveys her situation, folded into the corner under a child, legs asleep and brain foggy with work. She grins up at him. “I don’t think so.”

         G rolls his eyes, leans over and gathers Lisie. He scoops the sleeping child up. “Ready to go in ten minutes?” Couples yoga, besides actually being incredibly pleasant, has the added benefit of providing both couples with sanctioned scheduled excuses for leaving the house. Tonight G and Nell can go to yoga and spend the rest of the night alone at the condo relatively guilt free.

         Nell uses the couch and pulls to stand, stretching, stamping her feet to regain some circulation. Though she’d been oblivious, Sam, Gracie and Zara watch the Stanford women’s volleyball team crushing some other team while Michelle and Bernetta sit at the dining table idly talking about the upcoming week. G hands Lisie to Sam, Nell makes a quick round ensuring she’s got what she wants, including her jacket from the bedroom. Julia bustles around Tracey’s room, where a conversation about cashews of all things is brimming on the verge of an argument. Nell shakes her head at that, saying her goodnights and kissing her father on the cheek, backing out of the room with a rueful grin before anyone can get her into the fray. Then G’s in the hallway shrugging into his jacket, Nell hoists her satchel over her shoulder and they step out of the tight confines into chilly night air.

         Nell racks her brain for facts about the gradual break up of the Soviet Union and the devastation caused to the Russian secret services throughout the late 70’s and ‘80s... and she’s looking at it through too broad a lens. In the Mercedes she sinks low into the leather, puts bare feet on the dashboard, swipes open her tablet and begins a much narrower search around Gorbachov. How did...

         “Hey.”

         ...information was passing around the Kremlin that...

         “Hey.”

         “Shhh.” ...There’s some serious hate for the Soviet break up in Russia leadership today. Which might... there could be helpful data over at...hmmm... maybe Homeland now. Well, shit. Her ability to access both the FBI and CIA are better, but perhaps… that archival stuff has to still be at CIA. Who would’ve bothered... her fingers fly over the tablet screen, working through clearances to get into historical microfiche. Which looks lousy on the tablet screen. She holds the tablet up in an instinctive, though silly, effort to see through the film, squinting at the tiny white print.

         The car stops and she unbuckles her seat belt before looking up. “What?” They’re back at OSP. Disorienting because she’d been lusting after her plasma screen just that second. How? She squints at OSP, scrunches up her face, turns and slowly focuses on G.  Who sits next to her. Looking back patiently. Expectantly.

         “Might be easier to do whatever the hell you’re doing here?” He says. Really disorienting. “Unless, of course, it’s illegal.”

         It’s been a long time since Nell was so lost in work she forgot where or when she was. She blinks a bit of the mental fog away. Looks more closely at G. He seems resigned and irritated. She backtracks over the past hours since dinner. “Did I shush you?” She asks.

         “You did.”

         “I’m sorry.” Her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “That’s awful.”

         A lengthy silence heightens her discomfort, she searches for something else to say, some other way to anchor back to the present. Some portion of her thoughts stubbornly continues reeling around ancient history. It would be a good deal easier to ask her mother. The recognition goes a good part of the way to clearing her head.

         “If you need to keep working, it’s no problem.” G says. “We can do this some other time.”

         “I don’t. I just got into it, and... well, really just interested.” She pauses. “Okay. Obsessed for a minute there. But no.”

         His gaze sharpens. “I can drop you off at the condo and go back to the house.” It’s almost a question. Almost an offer.

         A bright spark of anger flashes through finally pushing the last tendril of distraction away. Passive aggressive, pain in my ass, he knows how I get when I work, and he’s no better... reactions flicker through her mind, but there’s also regret. And apologizing hasn’t work. “I’d rather spend the night with you. Either place.” G doesn’t look as though he believes her. She elaborates. “I made the mistake of digging into letters between mom and Hetty in the 70’s. It’s ridiculously addictive. You can imagine. Between insanely erudite discussions of literature and philosophy, it seems Hetty was sleeping with a Russian operative and sending mom actual identities of spies.” G starts the car, which Nell takes as a good sign. She buckles up and turns sideway in the seat, resting her feet on the driver’s seat. She details the first few notes. Warming to her topic, she gives examples she thinks are identities and not fictional characters. The ins and outs of Hetty’s romance are as interesting to G as they are to Nell and by the time they’re on the highway he’s paying close attention.

         At the door Nell tugs on the front of G’s jacket, bringing him to face her. “I am sorry, you know.”

         “S’okay.”

         “You seemed a little miffed.”

         “Wait 'til I shush you.”

         She giggles. “Yeah, probably not my finest moment.” They move through the foyer, hang up coats. “This being together thing is kinda complicated.” She leans on him to kick off her boots.

         “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t think there’d be so much talking.”

         That makes her laugh. He grins. While they had long winding philosophical conversations occasionally during their glued together time, there wasn’t much happening requiring explanation, directions, choices, concession, endless seeming negotiation.

         “It’s only 7. Feels like midnight.” She says.

         “I need to hit the shower, but maybe want to watch a movie after?” This is tantamount to an apology of its own coming from him.

         “Yeah, okay.” She peels off her sweater on her way down the hall. G peels his sweater and t-shirt off, right behind her. She turns in the bedroom door to face him, pausing to admire. “Can I join you in the shower?”

         Lots of hot water and foamy soap soothes away the day’s rough edges. Nell lingers over the feel of G’s skin in lather under her hands, massaging, caressing, itemizing, claiming. He rouses to her touch and she greets his interest with both hands, stroking his cock to full erection. She purrs under her breath, dropping to her knees to take him in her mouth. His groan vibrates through her and she bobs on him, humming. He goes from erect to peak hard she knows aches from the drop in his voice, his struggle to hold on to something in the steamy, slippery space.

         Hand in her hair cradling her skull. “Nell.” His voice is a growl. “Christ, I can’t... wait.” Gripping his base in both hands she grins up. “Shhhh.”

         His expression is lovely, wrecked, a little glazed, and she takes him full into her mouth stealing away his last breath, sucking hard. Hollowing out her cheeks and letting the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, she keeps her gag reflex in check, rhythmically swallowing around him. For long blissful moments she feels the tremor in his thighs and then he beautifully comes apart. He spills into her with a roar, knees buckling, body hunching forward, fiery heat down her throat, filling her mouth, dripping from her lips. She greedily drains him with her mouth and hands, pleased with herself, a combination of spiky desire and gritty satisfaction meeting at her core. Gasping, he slides to sprawl on the shower floor. She kisses up his belly, his chest, his neck, laughing softly. She kisses his mouth. “Wait for what?”

         “Fuck.” He shudders with aftershocks of pleasure. “Cheater.” He growls. Finally taking pity, she soothes her hands flat and firm over him, kissing him long and deep, wrapping around him, arms and legs, pressing close. Slowly his breathing eases, trembling subsides. The water cools and she reaches up to turn it off before they run out of hot water entirely.

         She crawls from the shower onto the plush bath mat, dragging a towel off the warming rack. A warm towel is one of her favorite indulgences. She purrs into the hot fabric.

         A large hand wraps around her calf. G crawls out of the shower over her. He snags the towel, rubbing with brisk, rough swipes. His ministrations are pointless for drying as he’s sopping wet and dripping on her. She laughs. He catches a nipple between soft lips. She squeaks, still hyper aroused from the water and the thrill of pleasuring him. “As I suspected.” His knuckles brush over the slippery folds of her core and her breath hitches. “Now show me how you’re gonna take care of this.” She meets his amused eyes, pupils still blown wide. He nods. “Wanna watch you come for me.”

         She holds his gaze, accepting his dare, slides her hands down her belly. She slowly dips fingers into herself, a small sigh escaping with the relief of touching achy flesh. She can get off fast and easy this way, but not in the deep way she wants. His brow arches, curiosity lighting his expression. She grins. If he really wants to watch, she’ll give him something to watch. She reaches overhead to the cabinet under the sink and tugs out the box of toys. His smile deepens. She doesn’t take her eyes off his, she knows what she wants by touch.

         The toy she chooses looks ridiculous. A flexible two headed dildo easily 16 inches long in neon pink, she got it as a gift from the bride at the wildest Vegas bachelorette weekend she’d been part of. Nell’s not a ‘how it looks’ kinda girl, though. She’s a texture, rhythm kinda girl. And George – yes she’d named it after a legend she created for G – has  a wonderful texture, is long enough to twirl easily. She’s explained all of this to G and he used it one afternoon to make her completely crazy. Now she bats his hands away, a sly smile on her lips. If he wants to watch, so be it.

         She closes her eyes, anchoring the memory of going down on him in the shower with the taste of him lingering in her mouth. She lubes up her toy, using lube on her nipples and warming the length of the dildo between her thighs. She hears G’s breath catch and peeks between her lashes. His gaze moves up and down the length of her, intent and pleased. His chest is tinged with color, his breath shallow. Her eyes lock on his face as she teases the wet folds at her core, heat pooling in the plumped flesh. With deliberation and legs spread wide she presses the dildo into her core, slowly, gently, pushing, squirming around it, her muscles clenching against it she eases the girth and length of it to nudge against her cervix. Her mouth drops open with the zing of fire, she loses track of G, twists her wrist and writhes with the wash of pleasure that starts at her skin and pierces into her. The slow circular twist sends shivering arcs of pleasure across her. She wants, needs to come and adds an in and out thrust to the twist until she quivers and tumbles over into quaking orgasm, panting and twitching with the power of her core contracting, liquid surrender. She’s left shaking on the floor, folded over, every nerve ending alight, trying to catch her breath.

         G’s hand on her face. She opens her eyes, greeted by his bright blue stare. “Damn.” His voice is low and rough.

         She smiles. “Well, you said you wanted...” The thought is cut short by his mouth on hers, kissing her hard and thoroughly, arms wrapping her into the curve of his body. His grip on the dildo makes her shiver, he eases it from her and tosses it in the shower, puts a leg over her, tucks her against him. The thud of his heart seems to engulf her, his breath in her ear, she can feel his heart beat everywhere he touches her. Eventually she comes down from the rush, matches her breathing to his. Dimly, she’s aware of his heart beating in her somehow. How can that be? Unless their pulses have also matched for a moment. She hears the soft beat in her inner ear. She sighs. Kisses his chest. Leans into him.

         G senses Nell fall asleep in his arms. Sleeping on the bathroom floor is a terrible idea, no matter how reluctant he is to pull away. He kisses her awake. “Let’s go to bed.” He begins to roll away. She protests, pulling him close again. Then she seems to wake in earnest and stretches an arm. She’s still flushed and gorgeous. He kisses her shoulder, grateful she trusts him with her body. “Thanks.” He says.

         She darts a confused glance at him. “Hmmm?”

         “For the insane blow job, for letting me watch you.” He shrugs. “Just, thanks.”

         “Mmmm.” She rolls, gets feet under her and lifts. “Thank you, too.” She nudges him with her toes, wiggling them under his thigh. He scrambles awkwardly up, achieving his feet with the help of the counter.

         Though sleep seems inviting it’s too early to go to bed. Instead they don t-shirts and sweats to nestle into the sofa. Turns out there’s a NOVA episode about Neil Armstrong they both want to watch.

~o~

         Sam’s got no idea what’s prompted it again, but the invisible tether between Nell and G has shortened up to about two feet. And that’s when they aren’t actually touching. Or leaning. Or something. Sam saw this happen when Nell got shot at, though he doesn’t know if anyone else noticed. He’s not sure how long it lasted that time, he assumes it lasted until G got called away to help him. Which was, what, four months?

         Sam watches thoughtfully from his desk while Nell and G come arrive, go down to leave their stuff in lockers Sam knows are right next to each now. Instead of going their separate ways, Nell up to tech ops and G to his desk, they do a drive by at G’s desk where G boots up his computer and Nell sits at his desk and types for a bit while G sifts through some paper work from his inbox. Then Nell heads up to tech ops, G behind her. Sam knows if he goes up he’ll find Nell busy at her workstation, seeming oblivious to G facing the opposite direction, rocked back in a chair beside her, doing paperwork. With his arm on her armrest.

         Sam’s not surprised when Eric jogs down the stairs with an expression of determined frustration on his face, sits at G’s desk, plugs his headset in and begins hammering on the keyboard. Sam chuckles. “Wondered how long it’d take.”

         Eric shoots him a curious glance, still keyboarding furiously.

         “For you to try escaping them.” Sam’s eyebrows lift, his head tilting toward the stairs.

         Eric’s shoulders fall, his fingers halt. “Are they like that all the time?” His tone is incredulous.

         “Who? Like what?” Marty breezes in the door, floppy blond locks damp from the morning’s surf.

         “G and Nell.” Sam says.

         “Oh that.” Marty grimaces. “Yeah. Intense. Hey, you working down here?”

         Eric rolls his eyes. “It’s nerve wracking.” He shudders. Three sets of eyes glance at the stairs. Eric goes back to work on G’s computer. Sam picks up a pen and digs into a case report. Marty heads to the lockers with his bag.

         Kensi comes in late, bearing a tray of beverages as a peace offering. She hands Sam a cup of coffee, sets a truly yucky greenish brown smoothy on Marty’s desk. “You are...” She notices Eric. Takes her hand off G’s coffee and instead hands Eric a green tea latte. “Down here?”

         “They are up there.” Eric sips with pleasure. “You are an angel. Thank you.”

         Kensi looks her question at Sam, who shrugs. She sighs. “Okaaaaay.” She drops her bag on her chair, sets a chai tea latte on her desk and mounts the stairs with the remaining two drinks. Tech ops is empty, save for Nell in her chair, and G... Kensi narrows her eyes and considers. G, able to recline in any situation, has a chair leaned so far back it touches the table behind him, probably for balance. His feet are up, resting in Nell’s lap, and he’s got a tablet in his hands. Kensi blinks. While there’s nothing innately intimate in the scene, it’s certainly... what? Feels... what? Private, as if she’s walked into their room without knocking. Something. “Did you guys throw Eric out for a reason?”

         Two identical expressions of mild surprise greet her. They both glance at Eric’s workstation, register more surprise. Kensi shakes her head. She hands the drink tray to Nell with a sharp look between Nell’s face and G’s feet and back. She pivots and vanishes down the stairs.

         Nell reads the labels, hands G his drink, sips hers. She glances around for Eric. Not up here. She flicks the security system to her screen and sees Eric isn’t in the break room, or hanging out with the guys as she’d assumed. He’s working at G’s desk. She messages him. _‘why are you down there?’_

_‘cuz you guys are gross’_

_‘what’_

_‘get a room’_

         She laughs aloud, then sees _‘not all that funny,’_ and sobers. She frowns, sucks on her lip. “G.”

         “Hmm.” He hasn’t twitched, though she assumes his eyes move when he reads sometimes she’s not sure of even that.

         “Need to talk.” She swivels, knocking his feet to the floor abruptly and earning a scowl.

         G puts the tablet on the table. “Talk.”

         “Locker room or outside?”

         He glances around the otherwise empty room. The only spot in the building free of camera coverage are the showers. He nods. “Either is fine.”

         She takes his hand. At the foot of the stairs she offers Eric a rueful smile. “S’all yours.” Freshly alert, she notes Sam’s keen gaze on them. She wracks her brain for some recognition of when they’d made Eric uncomfortable or Sam watchful. Or what they’ve done. With the team on stand-by they’ve all been dutifully catching up on reading, organizing and training. Through the gym to the women’s locker room, through the locker room proper to the showers, into a tile shower stall. They perch on the lip of the tile bench.

         “Eric was working at your desk.” She says.

         His head tilts. “That doesn’t...”

         She stops him with a hand up. “He says we’re gross.”

         His brows crunch together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

         She climbs into his lap, straddling his thighs, knees tucked up under his arms. This puts her eyes level with his and is her preferred serious conversation arrangement. His hands settle at her waist, hers rest on his shoulders. “I’m not sure, either. But, I asked him why he was downstairs and he replied we were gross and suggests we get a room. I think we made him uncomfortable enough to go work at your desk. He loves his workstation, G. I think we’re being too boyfriend girlfriend, you know.” His shoulders rise and fall under her hands. He’s not all that interested. She taps his chin. “Focus. What’s different? Maybe you’re freaking him out hulking around tech ops.”

         “Nah, I’m not scary. Must be you.” He teases. His grip on her waist shifts slightly lower, frames her hips. “Am I freaking you out, hulking around?” She’s staring into his eyes when his pupils dilate, swallowing up the blue until only a rim remains. In the same instant his fingers dig into her hip bones, his mouth hits hers and his erection nudges her crotch. The combination takes her breath away.

         “G.” There is a distinct whine in her voice. “Focus, please.”

         “I’m focused.” He says. “I kinda just want to be inside you all the time.” His lips press to the hollow of her neck, she barely discerns his words. His intention, on the other hand, is clear and present under her. She drops her head, the faint scent of sandalwood and patchouli from his soap this morning lingers around his shoulder where she nuzzles, knowing her kiss is the yes he seeks. The rumble in his chest is part chuckle, part growl and all possession. “Door locked?”

         She nods.

         Sam is pretty sure what’s happening downstairs. G and Nell reappear thirty minutes later, her rosy cheeks and his smirk offering confirmation. Their current living situation means Sam sees post-sex G and Nell far more often than he’d thought remotely possible. He points to G. “You, firing range.” He points to Nell. “You, upstairs.” Watching the mutual internal struggle as they decide to part, Sam crosses his arms over his chest, his fierce gaze daring either of them to argue. Nell blinks at G, lets go his hand and heads up the stairs. G watches her go, takes a step to follow her, meets Sam’s glare and silently concedes, turning to fully face Sam instead. Sam inclines his head and with a sigh G heads for the firing range.

         G rounds on Sam, defensive. But, something in Sam’s expression halts him mid-thought. Sam’s angry. Which is exceedingly rare. Satisfied he has G’s undivided attention, Sam relaxes, leans against the wall. He presses his lips together, his expression says ‘just stand there.’

         G chuffs out a frustrated breath, Sam sees him thinking. Finally. Sam nods. G’s eyes drop, his thoughts turn inward. Eventually G’s shoulders drop by the last millimeter, letting go of something. He looks up. “Bad, huh?”

         Sam’s eyebrow arches, it was a bit of an understatement.

“Really bad.”

         “Mmmmm.” Sam grunts. “G, there is nobody, and I do mean nobody, who is happier you and Nell love each other. Hell, I may be happier about it than you are. But, damn, man. If you have to work different hours, then work it out. Or, do whatever you do to get some separation. Do the bickering thing, if you have to, but stop with the conjoined thing. And stop having sex in the showers.”

         G’s face goes hot. His lips press tight. It’s everything he can do not to argue, just to get out from under the weight of Sam’s admonishment. He tries to recall the last time he and Nell weren’t in the same room, let alone not in the same building. “It’s the damn yoga, man.” He says.

         Whatever Sam expects that’s not it. He laughs. G grins. Then they’re both laughing. Sam shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad that’s working for your connecting. Just get to the letting go part. Stay down here. Shoot something. Stay away from her.” Sam goes back up the stairs.

         G sits on the second step and texts her _‘Sam just busted me. Says stay away from you.’_

_‘?!’_

_‘at work’_

_‘??’_

_‘he used the term conjoined’_

_‘ugh’_

_‘exactly he says no more shower sex’_

         An emoji of the smiley doing Munch’s Scream appears on his screen and G laughs. Another appears, this one with red cheeks. Then another with no mouth. The fourth has x’s for eyes. He types out _‘uh huh all that. i’m gonna shoot.’_

         Sam works halfway through an article on the IS in Syria when it occurs to him G was embarrassed. Sam’s years with the SEALs taught him the many varieties of why and how white folks blush. G is pretty fair, and while he definitely blushes with anger Sam rarely sees him embarrassed. Sam replays the conversation in him mind, in hindsight, G’s posture wasn’t anger. In fact, might have been shame. He gets to his feet and heads back downstairs.

         Marty turns to Kensi, rolling his chair flush to her desk. “Bit like being on vacation when they get all distracted, huh?” He props his face on his fists, leaning into her workspace.

Kensi strokes hair from his eyes, a gesture she’d never make unless they were alone. “Is it wrong that it makes me feel better when G screws up?”

         “Nah, I get that. Me, too. But, it’s weird. I feel closer to him, too. Like he’s more human. Isn’t judging me.”

         Kensi smiles, touches his forehead. The complexity of Marty’s insecurity, need to please and entertain, his hunger to belong, all intersects with G’s approval or lack thereof. He knows it and he works on it. She loves his truly inane earnestness, which no one else gets to see.

         “So, Sam said something this morning that’s been bugging me.” Marty says. He grabs a paper clip. “He was grumbling about the lovebirds and said he never thought he’d admit our bickering is a better relationship at work strategy. I think he meant it as a compliment.” He unfolds the clip into a straight line.

         “We don’t have a relationship at work strategy. We don’t have a relationship at work.”

         He grins. “That’s what I thought. Okay, pretend we’re at home.” He stands, leans, kisses her lightly, and sits back in his chair, sending it rolling toward his desk. “And you’re wrong about that, you know. We’re partners.”

         She cuts him a narrow glance. “Work. Is. Work.”

         “Uh huh.”

         In the firing range, Sam watches G rapid fire his handgun at a target. His ability with a handgun is peerless, so this is blowing off steam. Sam picks up ear protection and goggles, moving closer, catching G’s eye. G lowers the gun, flips the safety on, pulls up the goggles and drops the ear covers around his neck. His expression is wary and compliant.

         “We good?” Sam asks.

         G tilts his head.

         “I probably should’ve had more of a conversation with you about the thing with you and Nell. Totally not okay for me to separate you like you’re kids. I’m sorry. Way out of line.”

         G’s jaw tightens, releases. “We’re good.” He says.

         Sam takes this to mean they may not be good. He internally chides himself. “G.”

         G holds up a hand. Is quiet for another long minute before speaking. “I’d rather you tell me when I’m out of line than have people tiptoeing around uncomfortable. I’m supposed to be the one setting the tone, being the lead. I wasn’t. I can do better.” His voice is even, only slightly less expressive than usual, maybe no one but Sam or Nell would catch the reserve.

         “What’s going on?” Sam asks.

         G shakes his head. “She’ll kill me if I tell you.”

         “Doubt that.” Sam says. G lifts brows. Sam shrugs. “Come on, we live with you guys. Something’s up. Though I do believe your yoga argument.” He grins.

         “Everything’s up.” G sighs.

         Peeling back the first layer of talking to G is tediously the same. Either nothing is bothering him, or everything is. Sam waits. G processes.

         “Okay, life’s a little crowded. I appreciate it and I think it’s what we have to do, but it’s a bit much. And she’s a lovely distraction. She’s pretty freaked out trying to figure out how Lisie effects us. And I’m a lovely distraction. Back when she was being hunted, she’d initiate sex to keep her mind off...” Sam nods, makes a little ‘I get it’ motion with his hand.“Anyway....” G lets the idea float past them. “Then this mess.”

         Sam still wants to scold G, so he doesn’t say anything for a minute. “How would you handle this if Hetty was here?”

         “Well, that’s part of it. She’s not, is she?”

         “Okay.” Sam says.

         “We’ll figure something out.”

         “Let’s get a better schedule going at the house, too. Be more deliberate about who is where. Dinner together, yes. But, being really thoughtful about who gets to leave after story time.” Sam rubs his hand over his face. “And, maybe we let the girls stay at the house together every night. Mine would like to stop going back and forth and they don’t like leaving Lisie. There’s no doubt we all need more down time.”

         “Discuss it over dinner?” G asks.

         Sam nods. He puts on goggles and pulls his gun. G returns to his slot, lowering goggles and raising ear protection. They carry the same weapon and Sam stacks ammo between them, lining up a target in the next slot.

         Sam’s home late and when did he start thinking of G’s house as home? He sighs and pulls in behind the Mercedes in the driveway. Guess it’s true home is where the heart is and not solely in the building he purchased seven years ago two neighborhoods away. He takes roll call by vehicle; the mini van is here with Mitch and the girls, the mini cooper is here with Nell alongside G’s Mercedes. Kensi’s car is on the curb which is her mom, and the Lexus is his mom. He grins.

         He’s on the doorstep when the door swings open and Zara walks into him. “Whoa! Dad!” She’s in her basketball uniform, with an athletic bag over her shoulder.

Sam takes advantage of the collision to hug his kid. “Got a game?” He kisses her head.

         Mitch is in the doorway. “Yes.” She kisses him. “Can you come?”

         Zara ducks under Sam’s arm and heads for the van, earphones in. Sam gets another kiss from Mitch. “Let me get a bite. Gracie?”

         Michelle tilts her head in the direction of the house. “Here. Let me know.” She’s gone.

         G and Gracie huddle on the couch with a book of... “physics.” Sam says. They both look up, Gracie grins and nods.

         Something smells really good. In the kitchen a large pan of lasagna sits on the stove, a loaf of hot bread beside it. In the dining room, his mother is ‘helping’ Lisie set the table. “Hey moms.” Sam rounds the table for a long tight hug. “And hey you.” He sweeps Lisie up into his arms and buries his face in her neck. “Give me some sugar.” Until Lisie’s chortle becomes a belly laugh.

         Bernetta Hanna relieves the little girl of cutlery. “Take her to wash up. You, too. It’s time to eat.”

         “Yes, ma’am.”

         Down the hall to the bathroom, Lisie grabs Sam’s hand and tugs him into Nell and G’s bedroom. Nell and Martin sit on the bed talking, Lisie bounces onto Martin’s lap. “Grampa, time to wash up. Time for dinner.”

         “Hey.” Sam meets Nell’s serious gaze. “Sorry about this morning.”

         Martin glances between Nell and Sam. “Okay, kitten, let’s go get ready for dinner.” He says.

         Sam steps aside, allowing them to pass him, keeping eyes on Nell. Her smile is slow, but deep.

         “He’s lucky to have you.” She says.

         “Luckier to have you.” Sam says.

         With ten of them in the house and a table that holds six, the two kids are relegated to the bar. Kensi’s mom, Julia, takes dinner back to eat with Tracy and her evening nurse. G, Sam, Nell, Martin and Bernetta settle at the table, which Sam thinks is as good a group as any to discuss scheduling. Over pasta and garlic bread it’s determined the couples need to alternate nights at the house with every other night alone. Bernetta points out some combination of her, Martin, and Julia are here until eight every night as well.

         After dinner Sam, G, Grace and Lisie head to the basketball game. Bernetta clean and straightens Tracey’s room while Julia and the nurse do her bath. Martin and Nell take on the dishes. Martin washes pots and pans while Nell loads the dishwasher. “What have you heard from Henrietta or Bel today?” Martin asks.

         “Nothing today. They’re being pretty tight lipped. As far as I can tell they’re doing reconnaissance on Mattias, trying to frustrate him a little, get him to show some of his hand before they decide what they want to do.” Nell speculates.

         “Mmm. I’ll hear from your mom this evening. It sounds like they’re having a terrific time.”

         “Makes me wonder how they were back in the day.”

         Martin shakes his head. “Dangerous.”

         Nell laughs. “Dad, I think they’re still dangerous. What about you? What are you working on these days?”

         “There’s a project in New York City. A kid who interned with me a couple years ago. She’s designing a mixed-use building. She wants it to look as if it were built 300 years ago in London. We’ve been talking, emailing a bit.” Martin warms to his subject, talking about the effects of technology on design. Nell listens, making encouraging noises. She hops up to sit on the counter, engaged. Enjoying the conversation until long after the kitchen is clean, they’re still there when the crew returns two hours later.

~o~

         During Hetty’s morning call, she instructs Nell to bring the black book to Vienna with a variety of hardware in the form of earwigs, burn phones and a bug kit. Of course. Right. Nell clicks off the call. She doesn’t keep a go bag or passport at work. She’s not rated to carry a weapon on a commercial flight. She is precisely the last person any of the Russians are looking for. She nods to herself and stands. “Eric, l’ve got to go to Vienna. I should be back midday Thursday.”

         Eric’s head tilts to the side, his expression blanking. “Did you just say Vienna? That you’re going? Was that Hetty?”

         With a curt smile she walks away from Eric’s questions. Eric follows her to the top of the stairs and she’s aware of him behind her as G’s eyes snap up and fix on her. He reacts to the solemnity on her face. The blue eyes narrow and he comes to his feet. “What?”

         “l’m going to Vienna. I should be back midday Thursday.” Nell says. “I could use a ride to the airport.”

         Sam, Kensi and Marty go silent, eyes bouncing between Nell and G. Nell is deeply aware this is something Hetty would’ve asked G to do as recently as six months ago. She lifts a shoulder and heads to the equipment room, G on her heels.

         “So wait. Talk.”

         “Hetty wants both books, the actual one and the forgery. And this stuff.” Nell sorts through the equipment drawers, selecting what she needs and slipping it all neatly into a carrying case. She glances behind her and sees a flood of reactions swamp G. She nods. “Bank first, then home to pack. There’s a flight at 4 this afternoon.”

         G absorbs the information. He helps her pack up the equipment, movements efficient and fast. He adds a satellite phone. “I don’t want to wonder if I can find you.”

         They head to the car. Not much more to say as neither of them know what Hetty’s up to or why she wants the books. G considers as they drive toward the bank, sifting thoughts so fast Nell imagines steam coming out his ears.

         “I know.” She preempts. “But, honestly, no one is expecting me.”

         His fast glance concedes the point, but not the argument.

         “Obviously, the lowest profile handoff in the history of...”

         “What? All of espionage?” He snaps it out. “If I had any idea what they were up to, I’d feel better...”

         “No. The only way you’d feel better is if you were going...”

         He drums a tattoo of frustration on the steering wheel. “I’d prefer Matthias and friends not see you in relationship to Hetty. Or Belinda.”

         “They won’t.”

         He takes another quick look, brows up.

         Nell shakes her head. “No need. I’ll check in to the hotel, leave the book in the room safe, dead-drop the key at a postal service. Neither of them pick it up until I’m wheels up.”

         “Okay. Clearly a better plan than my barging in with deliverables.” Nell laughs and he smiles. “Still don’t have to like it.”

         “No one is asking you to.”

~o~

         G would sulk, but he’s busy. It’s Sam and Michelle’s night out although they offered to stay. G knew somewhere in the back of his mind how much work they all did, but wrangling the three girls at least absorbs all of his attention. Homework, more grooming than he can really quite fathom. He’s reading them Frankenstein and when they finally get settled into pajamas and piled onto the couch it’s easy to get lost in the story.

         He herds the girls into bed, wanders back to Tracey’s room. She’s awake, talking to Martin. She’s been dealing with fluid in her lungs, short breath, and baskets of pain. G hears the morphine in her voice. She can’t get very loud and Martin has his chair pulled flush to the bed, resting his elbows on the bed, chin propped on his hands, inches from her. G stops in the doorway and waits until Tracey notices him, meets his eyes, a flicker of a smile. Martin turns.

         “Girls abed?” Martin asks.

         G nods.

         “My daughter is in route to Belinda and Hetty?”

         G nods. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

         Martin offers a speculative smile. “In theory only and I’m not supposed to even know that much. So don’t ask. As you can imagine, I’m just fine in interrogation.”

         “What’s up?” Tracey asks.

         G perches on the edge of the bed. Considers how much he can tell Martin. He starts slowly, telling the backstory of Hetty and Belinda at the CIA in the early 70’s. Martin fills in detail G didn’t have. Tracey closes her eyes, but G senses her attention. Martin seems to know about the black book, so G plows on into current times, up to the situation in Vienna. Tracey smiles, asks a couple of questions about Hetty and Belinda. Martin starts in on the story of how Hetty and Belinda met, which instantly captivates G and Tracey.

~o~

         If all goes to plan, Hetty and Belinda will give Matthias the false black book in 37 hours. By all measures, the document is complex and genuine enough to pass analysis for years. Sam, Kensi and Granger will be on the ground and in position for anything from protection to extraction. SecNav, the Secretary of State and Homeland are all dialed in, as is the CIA. Eric wrangles permissions to use NSA satellite coverage, which offers an insanely good view.

         G follows Granger’s lead, and tucking his reservations aside he manages the surveillance duty with the assumption Hetty and Belinda can take care of themselves without back up on the ground. Watching isn’t as useless as it feels. The seven operatives on Matthias’ team are spread and take considerable watching. What the team can tell from surveillance shows Matthias appears to have back up from the Russian’s. Although his ruse is he’s using mercs, G’s fairly sure it’s FSB, authorized by what’s starting to feel like a cold war era Russian government. Vienna is 5 hours ahead and he shifts their work schedules accordingly to ensure one of them is watching in real time should anything unfold.

         When he’s not at OSP, he’s back with some combination of girls. He’d felt the transition from no home life to crowded home life acutely without realizing until yesterday how quickly it became a girl-filled home life. When G shows up at the Hanna household, Michelle gives him the keys to the mini-van and a schedule of late afternoon and evening activities. She takes the keys to the Mercedes, mentions something entirely too brief about manicure and tea, kisses him on the cheek and leaves. Lisie hurdles into him. “Uncle G!” Okay, he loves being announced.

         Grace is in the kitchen making cheese toast. G and Lisie join in for a very orange snack of cheese toast, carrot sticks and cling peaches. Grace has a paper to write, and she’s at Sam’s desk in the study tapping at the computer. G and Lisie sure into the couch in front of Sesame Street before it occurs to G to read the schedule. Grace also has a piano lesson, address provided, in an hour. Pick Zara up from basketball practice on the way to his house for dinner. By the way, pick up dinner. He knows it’s Tuesday and remembers Bernetta has church choir tonight. At the bottom of the note, Mitch writes she’ll be at the house around seven, and it’s his night off.

         He calls Nell. “Hey. I’ve got about twenty minutes to talk before this kid wrangling gets busy. What’s going on?”

         “Video chat. You have to see this bathroom.” Nell cuts off the call without so much as hello, I miss you. The phone vibrates and he taps open the video chat. The image of naked Nell in a tub the size of a lap pool resolves before he can complain. She pans the camera, showing him what amounts to a marble and gold spa, swinging back around to her happy grin. “See what I mean. Mom’s idea of hotel room. Anyway. How was your day? Anything good?”

         Naked Nell on the phone is excellent, but not really rated for the girls. “You’re having a bath?”

         “I want a bath.” Lisie pats G’s stomach. “I want to see.”

         “Can you show Lisie the bathroom without me needing to talk about the birds and the bees?” G laughs.

         “Of course.”

         He hands the phone to Lisie. Lisie secures the promise a bath with bubbles before returning the phone. He focuses on large maple hazel eyes. “Nothing much on this end. What did you get?”

         “No new info on why they’re in this. Just what you already know about when. G, there’s something going on we don’t know about, though. Neither Hetty or mom would give up intel for no reason.”

         “I thought you altered the intel to trap Matthias into inadvertently setting up the Russians to reveal…” Nell shakes her head on his phone screen.

         “I did. And that might work over the long haul. But, why risk anything just for that? Hell we can get decent intel hacking, too. From the safety of home. On the way over here I’m thinking it just doesn’t add up. We’ve been busy. Didn’t think it through. Something else has to be going on here and I wish I knew what.”

         “Think Granger knows?”

         “He’d have to for them to be over here at all. Think he’d tell you?”

         G’s laugh is sardonic. “He and Martin are getting a helluva kick out of treating me like I’m about fifteen. So, no.”

         “You do kinda act like you’re fifteen around them.”

         “Hey.”

         “Just saying.” She swishes a hand in the bathwater. “Listen, d’you think you could get Tracey to interrogate one or both of them? They’re putty in her hands.”

         “Wow. Nell. Really.” He admires her craftiness. “She had a hard night last night. I haven’t been over there when she was awake yet today.” He glances at Lisie, who hears everything that happens around her even while she looks absorbed in television or play. “Not that she wouldn’t get a huge kick out of some sleuthing. Last night Martin told us how Hetty and Belinda met and about their shenanigans in the seventies. Really entertaining.”

         “Oh yeah.” Nell nods. “They’re something. I miss you, G.”

         “I miss you, too. I don’t like the sound of those two into something we don’t know about and none of you having decent back up.”

         “For all we know, they do have back-up. Check with Vance, okay?”

         “Okay.”

         “Let me know.”

         “Yeah.”

         “And G?”

         “Hmmm?”

         “I love you.”

         “I love you, too.”

         “Tomorrow?” Tomorrow is the exchange. Nell will be on her way to the train station, leaving Vienna for Munich.

         “Tomorrow, Sam and I will be on coms. I’ll do what I can to keep you in the know.”

~o~

         At four the next morning, Callen, Sam and Eric are on surveillance and coms as Matthias and Hetty sit down to breakfast. Hetty makes small talk about their shared history while Matthias has a large breakfast. G immediately senses what Nell picked up yesterday. While Hetty has made a gift of her ‘black book’ to Matthias, she hints at an exchange G can’t see.

         “Sam. You hearing this?” G asks.

         “Is she talking about getting something from him?” Eric asks.

Sam cocks his head at the plasma. “There.” He points. Matthias flags the waiter.

         Eric opens coms. “Hetty, you’ve got one spotter at your 11 o’clock, third floor.” He mutes coms again, puts the image on one of the screens.

         Belinda arrives at the table, all smiles and kisses. Matthias settles the bill. The trio leaves the restaurant, share farewells on the crowded street and part ways. The spotter follows Matthias. Eric keeps Hetty and Belinda in the center plasma screen. G and Sam click through cctv cameras and angles, but don’t see any signs of trouble following the women. Much as they have for the past week, Hetty and Belinda window shop, chat, stop in several stores.

         “Eric, replay breakfast for me. I swear Matthias gave Hetty something.” Sam says.

~o~

         It ought to be a paperwork day. The op was successfully completed, the CIA is content, Nell will be home tomorrow. Hetty and Belinda left Austria for points unknown, claiming vacation. Callen assigns Sam, Kensi and Eric to figure out what Matthias gave Hetty. Hetty says they’re mistaken. G wants to be sure no one is being tracked and nothing is about to explode. The less devious minds, G and Marty, slog through triple paperwork. 

         G is unprepared for the call from Martin. Tracey passed away moments ago, Martin was with her, she stopped breathing in her sleep. Martin keeps talking as G leaves tech ops, keys in his hand. He needs to get to Lisie, figure out some way to tell her, needs to take her to her mom before the funeral home arrives and... “Repeat that.” He says, re-focusing on Martin’s voice. It seems the hospice nurse will wait for him to bring Lisie home before calling the county and funeral home, but only if G is there within the hour. Does G want them to get her cleaned up and dressed or should they wait? “What?” G has no idea what Martin is talking about. Martin explains and G points his key fob at the car unlocking the doors. How does he want Lisie to see Tracey? What does he want Lisie involved in? There’s a lengthy silence in which G imagines Martin wondering why this hasn’t been discussed, decided, planned. Well, shit.

         G’s brain belatedly kicks in. “I’m on my way to pick her up from Michelle. I’ll tell her and we’ll be there, but an hour is pressing it. I want her to see Tracey looking as much like she did this morning when we left as possible. So yeah, wait until we get there. Tracey and Nell picked out some clothes, in the closet I think. But, I’ll do it. Just hang on.”

         His senses sharpen, much like they do when there’s unexpected gunfire. He’s attuned to how everything looks, smells, moves. He’s talked with Lisie countless times about Tracey dying. Everyone has been scrupulously direct and honest, at his request. Lisie spends much of her days at the Hanna house with Mitch, so the car’s pointed towards the house. No amount of planning or knowing prepared him for the rush of bone deep sadness. He calls Michelle, and they talk through how the afternoon will unfold. As they talk, tears start. He hasn’t cried since the night Nell was shot. He’s still on with Michelle when he rolls into the driveway. He clicks off, wipes his face and climbs out.

         Lisie sees him in the entryway, scrambles up from the floor and trots over, happy grin on her face, and hurls herself at his legs. Instead of his customary greeting of lifting her up, he kneels and she frowns, clearly knowing something isn’t right. “Hi, kiddo.” G smiles a little, hugging her. He keeps her close, arms around her tiny frame, but leans back to have her eyes. “Mama died today.” He says. “We need to go say goodbye.” He stays with her gaze, her frown deepening with uncertainty. Her confusion clutches at his lungs.

         Lisie puts her hands on G’s face. “You’re sad?”

         “I am.” He says. She rubs his cheeks and he can’t recall the last time anyone saw him cry.

         “You’re crying?” She asks.

         “Yeah, I’m crying.” He says. Nate told him she’d experience most of this through him first. Nell cautioned him to resist going all stoic on the baby. Well, apparently that’s not happening. Michelle kneels with them, on the other side of Lisie, and wraps her arms around both of them, which feels unspeakably comforting. A minute later Michelle stands, taking them all to their feet. G keeps Lisie’s hand. “Let’s leave your stuff here. Grampa is waiting for us.”

         “He’s with mama.” Lisie says.

         “He is. And we should go.” G catches Michelle’s gaze, fully aware his kid has no idea what dying means. Who does, really? He’s not sure when he realized his mother was dead, wasn’t coming to find him, wasn’t anywhere. But, it was years later. In fact, he’s still discovering it. Some things don’t actually get better. You get used to coping. It becomes part of you. But, better, no. This knife sharp flashing of grief is what Nell meant about the echo of losing his mother.

         G and Michelle go about the odd tasks of getting Tracey’s body cleaned up, dressed. Intermittently Lisie climbs up on the bed to pat Tracey’s face. The hospice nurse calls the funeral home, calls the medical equipment company to pick up the bed, monitors, oxygen. Sam arrives with the girls. Zara and Grace ease into the room. Lisie greets them with detailed information about mama being dead and so still. Michelle hugs her girls, murmuring with them in a soft voice, G can’t distinguish words, but he sees Grace imagine losing Mitch, clinging to her mom, trying to hang in for Lisie.

         Martin gently shoos everyone away, to the front of the house. Bernetta gathers the girls for snacks. The nurse is in the kitchen also, melting narcotics in a saucepan on the stove. Grilled cheese sandwiches on the griddle on the adjacent burner sharpen the edge of surrealism. Unfazed, Bernetta gets the girls busy at the dining table. Kensi and Julia arrive with an armful of flowers, tiny rose colored orchids delicately cascading in abundance. Granger stalks straight through the house to the bedroom where he sits beside Tracey, face unreadable.

         Martin comes up behind G in the doorway and puts an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, son. Very sad.”

         G returns the embrace. “Me, too. Sorry.” The older man’s eyes are rimmed pink. G guesses his are too. “Wish Nell and Belinda...”

         “Yes.” Martin says. “But we’ll manage fine.”

         And they do. The funeral home staff is efficient, kind. G appreciates the solemn sense of ceremony they bring to the painful process of taking Tracey’s body. Saying goodbye. G takes Lisie back to the bedroom to see the staff pull a blanket over Tracey. He whispers to her mama can’t come back now. Goodbye mama. Goodbye Tracey. He lifts Lisie into his arms and takes her hand, gently touching the blanket. Then they follow the gurney to the door. As the door closes, Lisie’s fingers pinch tight on the skin under his arm. “Don’t want mama to go” a whisper.

         “I know.”

         “Want mama to come back.”

         G kisses her temple. “I know, baby.” Lisie hiccups. G pats her back. Her dark eyes stay locked on the door. G re-opens the door, unsure why he’s compelled he steps onto the porch. Lisie’s gaze fixes on the shrouded gurney, eyes hungry. They watch the body loaded into the hearse, doors shut, car started, pulling away, down the street, around the corner. G waits. Lisie stares after the car for long minutes. When her gaze finally comes to his, he turns and walks back inside.

~o~

         Nell’s plane lands at LAX midmorning. At the baggage carrousel she finds G. Lisie stands next to him with his pants leg gripped in a hand. Nell takes Lisie’s hand as she leans into G’s arms. “Glad you’re back.” G breathes into her hair. Nell wants to climb him, but can’t figure out how while holding Lisie’s hand and the tiny fingers grip tight.

         Nell bends, taking Lisie’s face in her free hand, looking into the dark eyes. “I missed you so much. I’m very happy to see you, munchkin.” She peppers the small face with kisses, forehead, cheeks, chin, nose. In the process, Lisie’s grip transfers from G, an arm snaking around Nell’s neck. The only choice is pick the baby up. G eases Nell’s bag from her shoulder.

         Nell settles Lisie on her hip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

         “Not your fault.”

         “Still.” It dawns on Nell belatedly she’s unsure what exactly she’s coming home to. Or where home is. Her gaze shifts to G, who’s got her bag on his shoulder and his hand at the small of her back. He is home of course. She’s already home. He’s looking past her, through the departing crowd, his hand and body moving her toward the doors.

         Their destination turns out to be the Hanna house where the girls absorb Lisie into their bedrooms upstairs, while the adults gather in the kitchen to prepare dinner and talk. Michelle reports having cleared the last of everyone’s things from G’s house earlier in the day. Movers are scheduled for tomorrow to shift furniture to wherever G and Nell want it.

         Nell slices apples for frying and considers the conversations they’ve had about where to live. Although G is Lisie’s legal guardian, adoption proceedings have just barely begun. Despite Tracey’s assurances, there’s no real evidence of Lisie’s father. Plans have to be made to show a good faith effort to either locate him or have his parental rights terminated. No one is worried, but it adds nearly a year or more to any adoption plans. Tracey did condescend to tell G and G’s attorney who Lisie’s father was, so at least they are looking in the logical places. Turns out G and Lisie stayed here the past two nights. No surprise.

         G moves to stand beside her, picks up an apple and begins slicing. She grins up at him. “We all sleeping here tonight?” She asks.

         His brows draw together, then he sees she’s teasing. He cocks his head. “What do you think?”

         “I think that if I’m really lucky, Lisie is staying here and you and I are going to the condo and we’ll sort out the rest tomorrow.” She says.

         “Mmm. What d’you have in mind?”

         “What don’t I?” She loves the flash of desire in his eyes, the quirk of his mouth. Their gaze locks, their hands still, and for a second it’s just them.

         Late night her wishes come true and it’s just them in her bed, wound around one another, talking softly. Although it makes a world of sense in practical terms for them to stay in G’s house - closer to work, more space, a yard - it simply doesn’t feel right. He lived in the house as a foster kid, Nell retreated there when she was under attack, Tracey died there. They’d created their family there, too. But, they agree living in the condo is the way forward. Six months from now, start looking for a house. The bedroom window is open a few inches. Enough to capture the smell of salt, the sound of waves. Nell burrows closer in against G’s chest, contentment swirling through her.

He presses his nose into her cheek, kissing along her jaw. “You are forever.” He says. His words trickle through her, warm and sticky, filling her with some newer pleasure.

         She draws back to find his gaze hotly blue, consuming, sure. Heat surges up, flares in her chest and cheeks. “You... I... yeah.” The three words she stammers out are not as eloquent as his.

         “Yeah.” His mouth caresses hers, he sucks lightly on her lip.

Fiery wanting ratchets up from her core, wiping away words. Her world narrows to his smell, his texture, the taste of the skin under his jaw, along his throat, across his collarbone. The press of hands that know her so well questing across her, gripping her ribs. The escape into his breath, his rhythm is bliss. His weight over her, his long slow incursion into her makes her back arch, head tilted back, gasping for breath. Slow, drawing out the sensation of blurring, melting, burning. As she comes apart she opens her eyes, his pleasure searing into her, marking her, marking him. She clenches around him, sweet delight, pulling him into her, seeing it hit him, feeling him spill into her. Claiming him. Satisfaction reverberates in her belly.

         She stays tightly wound around him, the ebb of desire nearly as delicious as its surge. G chuffs out a breath, amused at his inability to extract himself. She chuckles, loosens her limbs, allows him to roll beside her and curl around behind her. His hand cups her breast, his face at her neck in her hair. His breath hot, slowing, comfort. She drifts around thoughts about forever until she’s asleep.

         Nell wakes to her phone, glances at it and registers Michelle’s name and 5 am. She scowls, taps the call open. “Yeah?”

         “Aunt Nell?” It’s Lisie.

         “Hey sweety.” Nell sits, rubs her face. “What’s… are you ok?” G stares, question in his eyes.

         “Are you at home?”

         “Sweety?”

         “Where are you?”

         “What’s going on?” G’s whisper. Nell shrugs.

         Lisie stammers. “Ccan you come here?”

         Nell puts her face in her hand. “Sure. Let me talk to Aunt Michelle.”

         “This is the third time she’s been up.” Michelle begins without preamble. “She wants you.”

            “Be there in a couple minutes.” Nell ends the call and turns to G’s curious gaze. “Lisie wants to be picked up. She’s been up three times. I bet Michelle wants her picked up, too.” She kisses his chin. “Well, it almost worked. Let’s go get her.”


	7. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep apologies about the huge break between postings. Turned out that in order to add this conclusion, Chapter Six needed to be re-written. So... it has been re-written and edited, and while it'll probably be fine to read Chapter 7 all by its lonesome without going back - there are some plot renegotiations - it might not make entire sense. Or it might. 
> 
> As always fiction has a life of its own sometimes. Oh well. Hope you enjoy this.

G hands Nell his phone. "What the hell is this?"

Nell glances from her laptop to his phone. A text message from Martin. 'Do you have a moment? I'd like to arrange for you, Owen and me to meet.'

"No idea." She teases.

"Them together gives me the willies."

"Who says that anymore?"

"What?"

"Willies? What does that even mean?"

"Serbo-Croatian, from the word for wood nymphs, fairies, especially the creepy dangerous kind. Means it feels creepy like scary fairies."

"You even knowing that gives me the willies." She laughs. "But, I guess..." her laugh bubbles into her stomach. "They are a bit like scary fairies." Her last words shake with laughter. She closes her laptop.

G chuffs, taps on his phone, talks to Martin.  Nell bends over her laptop beside him trying to laugh silently, escalating. He gives her a nudge. He invites Martin to come by the condo. He closes the call. "Scary fairy alert. They'll be here in a half hour. You better pull yourself together." Nell's laugh is contagious, he chuckles.

 

G slides from the couch to the floor beside where Lisie has markers and paper. She looks over, narrows her eyes, her gaze bouncing from G to Nell and back. "Fairies are coming?" She asks.

"No, no." G blinks. "No fairies. I'm just joking to make Nellmama laugh. But, Grampa and Uncle Owen are coming. Much better."

Lisie lights up, scrambles to her feet. "Oh this is so good." She clasps her hands tightly together. "Can we make tea?" Martin has taken to having tea with his granddaughter in the later afternoon, frequently spoiling dinner.

"It's too late at night for tea. " Nell puts a hand on Lisie's head. "Grampa and Uncle Owen are coming to talk to Dad. We'll have your bath while they do that and afterwards we can see about one or the other of them reading your bedtime story."

"Can they both read it?"

"Possibly." Nell starts gathering up markers. "Help me put this away." Lisie folds her drawings in half and drops markers into the large ziplock bag reserved for the task.

When G has Martin and Granger settled at the dining table with scotch, he waits. For a moment he listens to Nell and Lisie in the bathroom. He can't make out words, but the hum of their voices is cheerful counterpoint to silence. He looks back and forth between the older men who enjoy the first few sips of 50 years old spirits. For the countless time, G wonders how his life became so twisted the words Uncle Owen come out of his mouth with regularity. Granger turns his glass in his hand, and meets G's gaze.

"Henrietta and Belinda have found your father." Granger says it levelly. "Reznikov is in Latvia. They're there now, confirming."

G's brows gather, his chest tightens, his hands close.

"In about four hours they'll be calling. There are several options." Martin adds. "Owen and I wanted you to know what the two of them were attempting sooner, but the ladies insisted we not speak to you until they knew. And so, here we are."

In self-defense, G begins gisting, re-thinking the past month in rapid order from a fresh perspective. He slots everything into an attempt to find Reznikov and events reform, take on new meanings. "Hetty baited Matthias." He offers, slowly. "She knew he has access to information from the Kremlin of the 90's it'd take us years to hack out. She offered him a trade. A trade of something he wanted more than anything else." He thinks aloud now. "Jesus, she altered the book to get the CIA on board with..." His focus lasers on Granger. "It worked. She found him?" His mind goes full circle. Hetty is with his father. His bones feel cold.

Martin stands, comes around the table, rests a hand on G's shoulder. "Yes. Though you'll have to place some of the blame for how this worked out on Belinda."

"Your family had no idea you survived until earlier today." Granger says. He leans forward, rests his forearms on the table between them. "Reznikov was released from prison in 1985, when the union dissolved. By then you were here, his father was dead. His mother told him both you and your sister were killed with Clara, buried together in her grave. He and his mother relocated from Romania to Poland for several years. He remarried in 1990 and started a family. After your grandmother died, his family relocated to be closer to his in-laws in Latvia."

Two small hands grip G's shoulders, come around and down his chest, Nell's face burrows into his neck. "Hey." Very soft on his skin. He infinitesimally leans into her embrace.

Nell's eyes meet Granger's, a question clear in her expression. He grins. "Gets better." He leans back. "Somehow, Jethro got wind of this. If I say he was not happy, that would be an understatement. He got on a plane two days ago, he's there. He insisted he personally verify Reznikov's identity before anything else transpired."

G smiles. Jethro always, always has his back.

"Yeah. Well, now he's sure." Granger says. "Martin and I thought if you were at OSP, and everyone wants it, you can communicate via the videophone. We'll stay here."

G turns to look at Nell, ends up leaning into her arms. Her chin rests on his head. The gentle in and out of her breath soothes. He's barely aware of Granger leaving the room. Nell snuggles him close, slides into his lap facing him. "Tell me what you need." She whispers. "You want more time with all this, I'll call them off."

"Hell, I've had thirty seven years. How much time can a person get?"

"G. Don't. Tell me what you need."

He concedes, tries to sort out the jumble of thoughts and feelings reeling through him. Uppermost is an uncomfortable clash of disbelief and relief. His customary reserve holds anything else at bay. He feels himself retreating into the stoicism of childhood. Things happen, you adjust. Harder to do with Nell staring at him, face full of concern and affection. In the back of the condo, deep voices in the rhythms of Dr. Seuss. "Guess I need you to come down to OSP with me. Let's see."

"Of course. If we go now we have time for tea and thinking before anything happens."

Instead of tea and thinking, G has tea and calls Jethro. Nell sits at a table in the Starbucks and watches him sit on the hood of the car. The idea of G and Jethro on the phone is always baffling. She's never figured out how listening and silence works when no one is talking. She resists the urge to call her mother. She simply has too many questions and demands, none of which make any difference whatsoever. G listens intently, his posture slightly curled, poised. She hasn't missed this sense of him coiled for the next blow. He's nodding, ending the call, walking back into the store.

"Okay, we're set for midnight." He sinks into the chair next to her.

"You good?"

"Little scared." He admits. "But, yeah. I'm good."

Seeing Nikita Reznikov on the plasma screen, a handsome and trim 67 years old now, is surreal enough G focuses on Jethro, measuring the familiar lines of a well known face. Jethro's ease and even traces of pleasure help loosen the tension in G's belly. He returns his attention to Reznikov, finding an intense grey examination. The desire to meet this man's expectations is strong, strange, he struggles to stay put. Decades of disappointing others strains at G's muscles. He lowers his gaze, breathes.

 

"Son, I'm so sorry." Reznikov begins, voice low and steady. "I have mourned my family all this long time I should have been looking for you. The most treasured moment of my life was looking into your eyes when you were born. I was a young man, so proud, so careless with the lives that mattered most. It is good to see you." Emotion shudders under his words.

"I didn't think I'd ever meet you." G says, raises his eyes to Reznikov's.

"There's much to say." Reznikov says. "Too much for now. You have Clara's eyes." His voice breaks. "Such a beautiful boy."

Tears rise to G's eyes, spilling onto his cheeks. "It's good to see you also, sir."

Hetty steps into the frame. "Mr. Callen, we've been arranging with Mr. Reznikov to visit the United States next month and meet you in person."

G nods. "Saves me a trip." He smiles. G's smile prompts Reznikov's smile, the similarity in their faces becoming more pronounced. G's smile widens to a grin. "I wish I had some idea what to say or do right now."

"You are Nell." Reznikov's attention shifts to Nell. "I am told you are much like your mother. My son is a fortunate man." His gaze drifts back to G. "Your step-mother is quite anxious to meet you also. I keep my memories of my first family very close. We feel a lot... a lot of joy to learn you are... alive. You are well."

"What happened? Where have you been?" The words slip from G, the tang of a small boy's ache in his voice.

"I will be there. Just a few days. We will talk." Reznikov's eyes glisten with tears. "We will talk."

Jethro steps closer to Reznikov, hand on the older man's shoulder. "I've got a flight out in about two hours, G. I'll be in LA tonight. I'll text you with the details, and if you can get me from LAX?"

"Of course. Just let us know what time." G says, grateful for the return to matters more mundane. "Hey, Bel?" He's relatively sure he glimpsed both Belinda and Hetty in the room earlier.

"Yes?" Belinda comes into camera range. She grins at Nell. "Hi lovey."

Nell offers a small wave. Belinda's gaze returns to G. He smiles. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, son."

~o~

Lisie scrambles up the dune, using tufts of grass for handholds. Nell's right behind her. They emerge on the upper beach covered with sand and jog towards the cliffs.

"Can I pick the cave?" Lisie calls over her shoulder.

"I thought you said dad could pick." Nell reminds her. The little girl huffs, slows to a walk. Nell falls in step beside, reaching for Lisie's hand. "I think it's dad's turn, kiddo. We have to let him pick sometimes, too, you know."

"Okay, okay. He's way back there." They both turn to follow G's progress with the picnic hamper.

"Yep. He went the long way. Let's look for starfish while we're waiting for him." Nell steers them toward a series of tidal pools. The tide is out and the pools are shallow, filled with crystal clear water, home to skate bugs, mollusks, and starfish. Lise squats by the first pool peering into the water. Nell shades her eyes with a hand and watches G's progress toward them. He'd be coming faster if he wasn't on the phone. Last she overheard he was talking to her father, planning something for tomorrow.

Her parents remain ensconced in Hetty's house. They've always loved the idea of grandchildren, but reality proves better than the fantasy. Nell's begun thinking her mom's not going to ever get her dad away from Elise. She also suspects her mother of lingering to make sure everything between Nell and G works out to her mom's satisfaction. Martin told Nell last week he's keeping both G and Lisie, regardless of what Nell does.. She glances back. If anything, G's pace has slowed. The sun is hot overhead and the sand is hot underfoot. She waves, urging him onward.

G chooses a wide mouthed cave halfway down the cove. Holding the hamper high, he wades out to it, Nell swims, floating a chattering Lisie on a tiny raft in her wake. It's cool and dark in the cave. They find several boulders to spread their picnic on. The tide continues its retreat, and the cave is relatively quiet. Lisie shouts, creating happy echoes in the vast space. In the lee of their boulders, the water is ankle deep, and Lisie strides through the pool, waving arms over her head, splashing and yelling, happily pretending to be a giant. "Nellmama, watch me! Grrrrrrrr! I'm sooooo big!!"

~o~

"I wanted to talk to you about this when you came back from New York, but with everything in Vienna, didn't get a chance." Belinda slides a thick envelope across the table.

Nell puts a hand on the package, eyebrows up, her gaze bouncing between her mom and Hetty.

A waiter arrives with drinks, and takes their lunch orders. While that's going on, Nell opens the envelope and peers into it, wary about taking out the contents in a public space. But, there's nothing top secret in the envelope and Nell lifts out her birth certificate.

"Mom?"

"Given where all that ended up, it seems possible for you to go back to being yourself. If you want, of course. You were so broken hearted when we decided to change your name. I thought you might want it back." Belinda explains. "Anyway, there is everything from the safe deposit box."

Nell's not sure what to think. There are elements of her true story she'd like to reclaim. "I'd have to think about it." She admits.

"Your dad and I don't care what you do, sweety."

"And whatever you decide won't affect your job." Hetty adds.

The three have lunch once a week, and Nell enjoys it. They talk about family, work, and the future. They're planning a vacation. Hetty's making arrangements for the RED team to cover OSP assignments for two weeks so all of them can go. The last thing Nell heard was Granger grumpily refusing to go while Sam and G blithely planned on around him.

Later in the day, Lisie asleep, Nell settles into the recliner with G. He shifts his weight to accommodate her. She takes his book, tucking a finger to hold his place and burrows into his embrace.

"I take it you want something." He drops a kiss on her hair.

She sighs. "No. Nothing. Just thinking."

"Can I read while you think?"

"No." She chuckles. "I need your undivided attention to think." She drops the book over the arm of the chair and curls around him. "Now you know your name, are you going to start using it?"

He tips her head back to see her face. "What are we talking about?"

"Names."

"We're talking about my name?"

"Uh huh." She catches her bottom lip in her teeth, eyes wide with amusement.

G considers her. She's adorable, blinking up at him with mischief in her expression. She's feeling uneasy about something, which thankfully isn't him at the moment, and if he plays along there will be ridiculously delicious sexy times ahead for him within moments. Colluding with avoidance sex, while pleasurable, seems unfair now he recognizes her approach. "Want to tell me what's bothering you? Or d'you want me to fuck it out of you?"

"G!" She giggles, grinds the top of her head into his chest. "The things you say."

"Well?" He catches her chin and brings her eyes back to his. Ignoring flirtation, he gazes back levelly. "I'm up for either. You decide. But decide."

She bites her lip harder. "Well, if I knew what to say." He waits. She sighs. "Had lunch with the moms earlier."

"Mmmm."

"Mom gave me my birth certificate and asked if I'd thought about going back to my..."

"Name?"

She nods.

"I don’t see myself taking on Alexi Gregor any time soon." G says. "What with the various legends and all. I got a little hung up on Reznikov. Never has felt like mine. But it is. I've never talked to Hetty about why she chose to use my mom's maiden name for me, instead of a true alias. I'm sure she knows. One of these days I'll ask her." His hand traces up her back idly while he talks. "I can’t say never, and you created a nice legend for me named Greg, and I like the resonance. But, I don’t know. Did you think you'd be Nell Jones forever?"

"It was about safety from the social media, from people who were all about bullying. No one thought it was about physical safety in the way it was. It was about not having to live in the shadow of rumors. Mom was afraid I wouldn't be able to be who I wanted to be, if I was the girl who killed him." She says. Talking slowly, thinking aloud, she leans into his hand at the back of her neck. His fingers trace up into her hair. She sighs.

"Worked."

She looks up at him, flashing a smile. "It did. Yes. In a way. " He bends and touches his mouth to hers.

"Happily for me." He says, twining a lock of her hair around a finger.

"For me, too." She kisses his chin. "But it turns out I'm still the girl who killed him. I hated changing it."

"I found being left with an initial kind of annoying."

"Oh, come on, it's actually pretty cool."

He chuckles. "No. I am cool."

"Ugh." She groans.

"You get it doesn't matter. Right?" He says, his voice dropping.

She shakes her head. "The weird thing is now I'd hate to give up Nellmama. Guess I flat don't like changing my name, huh? What is that about?"

"Keeping Nell, then."

"Yes. But, maybe not Jones. Maybe I'll take Winslow, or Shaw."

"You want Callen?"

Nell sits up, hands on his chest for leverage. "What?"

He shrugs. "I don't mind sharing."

"G. That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He covers her hands on his chest. "I'm trying to propose. Thought it might help."

She cocks her head. "You're serious?"

"That isn't really the response I hoped for." He tucks hair behind her ear. "Let me try something else." He tugs her to him and kisses her slowly. Leans his forehead against hers. "Will you consider getting married before you do anything to your name? Just in case that might factor in."

"Yes." She whispers. "I'd like us married."

"Me, too." He finds her mouth again, wrapping his arms around her, pressing her close.

~o~

"Gracie is spending the night with your kid and your girlfriend's parents at Hetty's house, G." Sam sighs.

"Yeah, okay." G keeps his gaze on the back door of the bar they're surveilling.

"S'Just strange, G." Sam tucks his phone in his pocket. "You're supposed to sleep on my couch."

"I'm sure I can arrange that, too."

"You know what I mean, man."

"No idea." G deadpans. "We're gonna be out here all night. This asshole isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Zara and Mitch are at the game, the girls'll have fun."

"I know they will. Your in-laws, or whatever they are, are gonna buy them something spectacular that I will never hear the end of."

"Very likely. Grandparents are apparently a good thing."

Sam huffs out a resigned sigh. "Apparently."

"Admit it. You miss us." G puts his feet on the Challenger's dashboard.

Sam swats G's feet down. "I see you all day every day, G. When could I possibly miss you?"

G shrugs. "I don't know, man. It's just a feeling. I think you miss us all living together."

"What I miss is date nights."

"Hell, I miss that."

"Boys." Nell's voice in their ears. "We've got Randolph pulling up out front. Heads up, please."

~o~

"Aunt Nell, you have to have a wedding so I can be your bridesmaid." Gracie explains with exaggerated patience.

"What if I don't want a wedding?" Nell asks. She's got an armful of laundry, She maneuvers through the door, around two children and dumps the load on the bed. She glances around for the laundry basket.

"Everyone wants a wedding." Zara offers, matter of fact.

Nell spots the basket behind the bathroom door. She stops in the middle of the room, surveying the three little girls lying on her bedroom floor with books and crayons. "Hold on. Why are we always talking about this? I'm the one getting married."

"Mom says getting married is about families and we're family. So we're all getting married. And I want a wedding." Gracie arches her brows at Nell. Zara rolls her eyes, but laughs. Gracie nudges Lisie. "Lisie wants to be in the wedding, too. Don't you? So you can have a princess dress. Right?"

"Can I have a princess dress?" Lisie drags her attention from her coloring book to gaze up.

Grace and Zara, adept at drafting Elyse to get what they want, nod judiciously.

"We're all getting married." Nell mutters. She grabs the basket and takes it to the bed, where she begins folding clothes. "Tell you what, ladies. I'd rather get married without a wedding and then we can all have a honeymoon. We could all go to London, and see castles and dungeons aplenty. How about that for a plan?"

"Oooh, I really want to go to London, Aunt Nell." Zara sits straight up.

"Can you even get married without having a wedding?" Grace speculates.

"Let's go see castles." Lisie adds, tugging on Grace's sleeve. "Draw me a castle."

"Hmmmph." Nell smooths a pair of jeans before rolling them carefully.

~o~

The ramshackle warehouse stretches several blocks. A vast sea of corrugated metal and chain link over asphalt. Nell takes a long moment in the last light of twilight to reconcile what she's seeing with the blueprints. Unlike the clean white lines on the plasma screen earlier, in person the building seems to have no discernible straight edges at all. Doors and windows have clearly changed over the thirty years since the contractors registered this monstrosity with the city. Not to mention the debris of out buildings and lean to's littering the building's original facade. 'Poor thing' she thinks. It does appear locked up. Bristling with chains and padlocks. But nothing more sophisticated.

Bolt cutters make quick work of snipping a one foot rift in the fencing, she shoves the resulting corner up and slithers under. What she's divined from the overheard discussion on G's last remaining coms - a microphone in his shoe even he doesn't know she has - he's being held in the northwest corner of the complex. There have been moments when she could hear the surf and the call of gulls. Nothing on the street side of this building reveals lights or any other signs of activity. The building is registered abandoned, and she guesses they've left the front three quarters of the space empty. She checks several windows, all filthy and looking into dark undefinable spaces.

LA never really seems completely dark. The ambient light is plentiful for her quick climb to the roof. She'd expected tar and gravel, but under that is concrete. Handy. "Eric, this is a flat concrete roof. LAPD SWAT can drop whatever they want on here."

"Copy that."

Also makes for a much faster quieter traverse than she'd expected. She gets to the ocean side of the building, the view breathtaking, and scans over the edge of the roof to the ground. Here there's activity, and she drops to a crouch. "We've got two armed lookouts one each at the north and south corners. The main door seems to be a triple wide overhead door just south of the building center. I'm going to drop back to the ground on the north side. Come on in."

"Three minutes, Nell."

She hears the choppers, it'll only be a moment until the lookouts do, too. Moving back from the edge she jogs the half block to the north side of the building and drops over it, hanging from her arms for a moment, until she gets purchase on a windowsill and then she's on the ground. Two windows back from the where she lands she uses a glasscutter to carve the pane from the frame, lifting the pane out and leaning it against the building. She hops over the sill and into a dark empty space. The light on the scope of her pistol is dim blue but sufficient for her to make her way toward noise. What begins as the distant hum of choppers and some urgent discussion, escalates to barked orders and yelling as LAPD mounts a full scale raid on the warehouse.

Nell flies down a hallway, around two corners and through a door before finding any signs of life. The room is empty, but lit and well lived in. A television is on, a glass overturned. In the next room a guy is hauling G to his feet, and Nell shoots him in the head. "You okay?"

G glares. "What the hell?" He's got a bruise along his jaw, but overall looks no worse for the wear. Four days of beard, and could use a shower, under his irritation he's pleased to see her, blue eyes taking her in thirstily.

She cocks her head with a rueful grin, making use of her bolt cutters on the cuffs at his hands and ankles. She brought a gun for him in a holster at the small of her back, and she slaps it in his hand. "You're welcome. Let's get the fuck out of here. LAPD is on a bit of a tear." The pop and boom of gunfire outside sounds like a battlefield. "Come on, we're going out the other way." She kisses him.

Marty has a car at the curb, and they pile in. On the return to OSP, Nell fills G in on the evidence they gathered leading to the raid, and incidentally his rescue.

"You bugged my shoe."

"I was going to tell you. But, we were busy, and then you lost your earwig."

"I got thrown in the ocean." G protests.

"Then your earwig got wet, and well..." Nell trailed off with a shrug. "So I figured I should come get you."

"The shoe bug is waterproof?" Marty asks, impressed.

"I tried to make it G proof." Nell says. Marty laughs. G chuckles. "You're lucky we still got location after it got wet."

"Hmmph." G sprawls in the back seat. "I'm getting too old for this. Ow."

"I offered." Marty says.

"Next time, I'm taking you up on it." G says.

Nell cranes around to glance at G behind her. "You're alright?" He groans an indecipherable response. She pops open her seatbelt and climbs in the back seat.

"Guys." Marty protests.

Nell ignores Marty, kneels on the floorboard. She takes G's hands, traces the predictable swelling at his wrists and scabs on his knuckles with a light touch. "What hurts?"

"I'm okay."

"Missed you." She kisses the back of his hand, then begins a slow tactile inventory by trailing fingers lightly through his hair. A knot behind his left ear triggers a wince. The bruise along his jaw covers some swelling there, too. She strokes his neck, his shoulder feels puffy, evidence it was yanked from its socket when he went overboard as she'd suspected. When he winces at a touch to his chest she frowns and pulls his shirt up. A large bruise stretches from his sternum around his ribs. She makes small noises of sympathy and irritation. She peels the shirt off.

"Guys?" Marty grimaces in the rearview mirror. "Come on. Can't this wait 'til we get back to ops?" 

~o~

                        Nikita Alexander Reznikov, known to friends and family as Sasha, returns to Los Angeles two months later, this time with wife Zoja, and daughters Karina and Izabella. A retired police inspector, Sasha is immediately at home with G's makeshift family. The protectiveness of G's friends pleases and amuses him. He is keenly aware of being vetted by this diverse group of law enforcement officers. Hetty puts the Reznikov family up on her yacht for the two weeks visit. Although the days and evenings are filled with sight seeing and large family gatherings, G and Sasha stay up late nights on the deck of the boat, sometimes talking, sometimes watching the water.

Sam and Michelle host a cook-out for as many of the crew as can be gathered on a balmy Saturday evening. G, unsure what to make of this much desired but oddly awkward influx of people into an already crowded life, enjoys seeing Lisie surrounded by more grandparents, more aunts. The little girls splash in the pool with G's half-sisters. Sasha is deep in conversation with Martin and Owen. The moms, as he's come to think of Zoja, Hetty, Julia, Bernetta and Belinda have gravitated toward the shallow end of the pool in a configuration sure to result in some form of organizing.

Sam follows G's gaze. "That looks like trouble brewing." He says. They're at the grill, checking on the fire, which is nearly hot enough to begin cooking. “This is close.”

“Yeah, I’m staying away from the moms. I’ll go see what’s keeping the veggies.” G heads toward the house.

While Nell and Robin have the meat sorted onto trays for cooking, the veggies are still in the fridge. Robin takes the tray of meat to Sam and G gets out a cutting board. Nell leans over the counter, stealing a slice of carrot and handing it to Lisie. She grabbed one for herself and crunched contentedly. "You know, that first time you kissed me everything was such a mess, so much turmoil, and then it's just never seemed to settle. I worried we were together for all the wrong reasons and you'd leave me if things ever settled down."

G chuffs. He slices celery, something he does so fast Nell curls her fingers against her palms even from the other side of the island.

"And I worried we'd never know if we were going to last unless everything got calm and routine. You know? But, truthfully..."

He meets her gaze, blue eyes amused.

"What?"

"Go ahead." He nods.

"You already know this, don't you?" Her accusation is teasing.

"That I'm a lucky bastard whose life is chaos, yet the woman I love can handle it and then some. Yeah, I know that."

Nell has given up hoping any of them will stop cursing around Lisie. She reaches over the counter and pokes him in the chest. "Yeah, well my life's never exactly tranquil. I was actually thinking I'm the lucky one."

G puts the knife on the cutting board. "Come're you." They meet mid-way around the island and he takes her face in his hands and kisses her, hard.

~o~

"Oh shit." Sam growls, glaring at his phone. "Check your phones people."

"Hey!" Eric yells from upstairs.

Marty and Kensi slide phones from their pockets. Marty crows. "Oh snap!"  
The group text is a picture of Nell and G sitting on the stone steps of a red brick building, smiling at each other. 'We got married this morning. Please celebrate with us, tomorrow night, 7.00, at Hetty's.'

"Told you they'd elope." Kensi grins. "You all owe me a hundred dollars. Each."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting. Makes the writing monster so much easier to live with:).

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are cherished.


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